Happy Holidays, kingstoken!
Dec. 23rd, 2022 05:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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go_exchangeSECRETS OF WILD SOHO
Summary: A split-screen story, featuring God and Satan, and Aziraphale and Crowley, wherein the former pair watches the second pair doing things they've never done and would be hideously embarrassed if caught doing by anyone else, especially, say, God and Satan. (And it's still only rated PG-13, if you don't count the language.)
NOTES: Written for kingstoken, for the Good Omens Holiday Exchange.
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On the ground floor of the tallest building in existence – the one that is located both everywhere on Earth and nowhere at once, which reaches both up to the Heavenly Spheres and down to the Circles of Hell, and which is impossible to see unless your eyes were designed for it (though it was once noticed by a man named Jacob who mistook it for a rather unique ladder) – is an even-more-well-hidden meeting room. Only two individuals in all of Creation know about this room. They use it once or twice a millennia to discuss world-altering plans, have a snack and drinks, and to gossip about their kingdoms.
YHWH, the Lord of Hosts, the Most High, I Am that I Am, the Almighty and One True God sat awaiting Her guest, sipping a cup of steaming Brownian motion and absently watching a wall-sized flat-screen television, which at the moment showed the streets of London where humans were busy doing normal human things.
Soon She was joined by the Morning Star, the Light Bringer, the Great Deceiver, Chief of Devils, the Accuser and He Whose Name is Legion, who sighed wearily as he took a seat next to his Parental Figure. "What's the big deal, El? I was really busy Downstairs."
"Nonsense, Samael, you were moping around because you were bored, like always."
"Don't deadname me, Mummy dearest," he scowled, but only lightly. "It's Satan now."
"As you wish. But I did give you that name, so it has special meaning to Me."
"Yeah, real special. Spice of God. And humans misinterpreted 'spice' as 'poison' so I'm to blame for wanting you dead."
"Or maybe just giving Me heartburn."
"Either way. They just believe what they wanna believe, they'll never understand the real truth, and they won't listen unless I scare the shit out of them first. They're stupid, and they suck, and so do You."
Even with those words, they both smiled a bit. It was a familiar and ludicrous debate, but at least he had verbally capitalized for Her sake. He was coming around. Slowly as molasses in the Ice Age.
"Anyway, My son, the big deal is this..." She blinked a radiant eye and the view on the television began to zoom across London, until it settled at the front door of a bookshop on a corner in Soho.
"Ugh. If I wanted to watch Hoarders or Antiques Roadshow I'd have stayed home and taped a plastic bag over my head until I blacked out."
God shushed him gently. "This is not a television program, silly. It's real life. And it's very important to us both."
"Real life? Are you being a voyeuristic freak again, El?"
"Again? I've never been. I just happen to see all. It's the way I Am."
"Same damned thing."
Tutting again, She merely offered a plate of biscotti to Her eldest son, and smiled when he took three. "Just watch. You'll see what I'm talking about."
On the television was a rather frumpy looking, slightly pudgy Principality, wearing clothing too many years out of date to truly count anymore. Satan knew who it was and he growled deep in his throat, causing him to briefly choke on his rapidly scarfed biscotti. He grabbed the spare cup of possibly-coffee to wash it down, then coughed once. "Yeah, I'm leaving now."
He was unable to rise from the chair. "Bit childish to strap me down, isn't it?"
"Behave, son, or I will turn it into a toddler chair and give you a binkie." When he stopped squirming and settled down with a pout, She waved a finger toward the tv again. "As I said, important. Watch."
+ + + + + + +
Aziraphale was fretting far more than normal, even for the fussiest angel ever to walk the Earth on his own two corporeal feet. He felt restless in a way he'd never experienced, which seemed to be a mix of anxiety and hunger.
He'd been stricken with an odd compulsion to rearrange his bookshop, which was bad enough – keeping it in an order that made sense only to a being of celestial intent also kept it nearly fully stocked at all times, thus keeping him happy. But he simply couldn't stop thinking about how it looked until he'd rearranged literally everything in the front quarter of the store, facing the doorway.
Taking a few moments to breathe, he thought the feeling had eased. But he soon began absently moving furniture as well. Strange... It gave him a sense of excitement. And, he supposed, he could easily snap his fingers and return everything to its original positioning. In fact... why hadn't he done that when doing the rearranging in the first place? He supposed it just felt more... satisfying to do it with his own hands. So he shrugged and carried on.
An hour or so later, he was done with the repositioning of his environs. He desperately needed a cup of cocoa now. And maybe some crepes. With a side order of something savory... Oh dear, he'd need to miracle all that he was suddenly craving, unless he wanted to make a trip to the Ritz without Crowley.
By the time he'd finished snapping up what he desired, there was full seven-course epicurean meal with raw scallops, foie gras, turbot Veronique, sweetbreads, roasted pigeon in pears, two desserts, and a selection of wines and champagnes.
He stared in amazement at the spread. Even for his appetite, this was a bit much. But it was a shame to let it spoil, so perhaps he should have invited Crowley to dine.
No time like the present. A quick phone call, which left him oddly breathless, and the demon was on his way to the shop.
+ + + + + + +
"What the ever-loving fuck did I just watch?" Satan drawled. "The twat's gone reverse-Marie Kondo on that motheaten tinderbox of crap. And now he's gonna gorge himself on the most pretentious layout I've seen since Vitellius. With one of my demons?"
God's lip curled with amusement. "One of yours? Is he, anymore?"
"Always. You promised whoever fell was mine for eternity."
"Ah, so I did. But I didn't promise anything about what happens if they should develop free will."
Scoffing loudly, he said, "That's just for humans." He looked askance at Her, saw that She was still smiling in a way that was designed to infuriate specifically him, and snarled, "Isn't it???"
"Of course, dear. Just for humans. And you. And apparently your own child. So why not a few others? Especially the ones with real imagination."
"Oh, for fuck's sake! You are CONSTANTLY changing the rules!!"
"My rules." She tapped the table gently with a fingernail to get his attention back on the issue. "Keep watching."
+ + + + + + +
Before Crowley arrived, Aziraphale leapt up and started to pace. He'd never been so nervous or eager to see his old frenemy (such a clever word, and such clever humans to have invented it – something that rather nicely summed up their relationship). Why he was feeling this way, he couldn't quite fathom, but he imagined there must be an Important Reason.
As he heard the tires of the Bentley screeching to halt, no doubt half on the pavement and blocking the doorway, he stopped pacing, flicked dust off his coat and waistcoat, then noticed just how shabby they truly were. Oh dear. Maybe he should tidy himself up a bit...
But there was no time. Crowley had burst the doors open in that way he always did, like he was certain absolutely everyone on the other side of the door would be stunned into silent awe at the view.
And it was definitely working this time. On both of them.
Crowley took one look at the shop and his jaw virtually unhinged. His eyes swiveled from one spot to another, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. After a few seconds, he asked in a very low voice, "Angel, why are there two piles of furniture arranged like a gateway? How the hell did you get them to balance like that, and nearly to the ceiling? Why are there books and knickknacks all over the damned floor? And why are they all blue?"
"I, ah, I don't actually have a sensible response to any of that. It just... seemed the thing to do..." Aziraphale felt his brow begin to sweat, and he longed suddenly to have someone wipe it away for him. Preferably with their lips.
Where the hell had THAT thought come from??? The angel froze in horror. Then he began to fidget. His feet shuffled and his hands fluttered about, and eventually his entire body was moving in a somewhat peculiar way. And he couldn't seem to stop himself.
Crowley's eyes were bugged out so far that they nearly popped his sunglasses off his face. "Angel, are you... are you dancing?"
"I... yes, I think so...?" Aziraphale said a bit breathlessly. His movements were getting slightly more graceful now, as though he'd just remembered the steps to an ancient dance he learned once and never practiced since.
Not quite yet speechless, Crowley gave a bewildered laugh. "Is that some variation of the Snoopy Dance? I mean, it's got traces of the Gavotte, but clearly that's not what's happening here..." When Aziraphale looked about to crouch and take a different pose, Crowley held up both hands and cried, "Whoa! If you start twerking I'm gonna call an exorcist!"
"I don't even know what twerking is!" Aziraphale shouted, and suddenly his voice was raising by octaves and he began to sing his words. "What in the heavens is happening to meeee???" he intoned. His voice expressed multiple sounds no human throat could have managed, with overlaying notes that were far too pure and beautiful to be earthly.
Crowley jammed his fingers into his ears and shouted, "Damn it! Stop with the celestial harmonies! My ears are gonna start bleeding! Seriously, are you trying to discorporate me through contact embarrassment here??"
With a boom, the sounds stopped as Aziraphale shut his mouth. He wrestled his body to stop as well, and all but collapsed into the nearest chair, which was just barely available as it had one arm embedded in the lefthand pile of furniture. The pile teetered precariously but didn't dare to fall over and bury the deeply confused and humiliatied angel, no matter how much he wished it would.
"I'm sorry, Crowley, I literally have no idea what has come over me. I seem to have lost my mind, somehow..."
Feeling just a bit sorry for the angel now, Crowley approached cautiously. He wasn't sure exactly how to comfort his friend, especially since the sights and sounds he'd witnessed were things he was absolutely certain would haunt him to the (real) end of the Earth. "Pity we can't call someone Upstairs and ask if there's some kind of angelic virus you've caught. But why don't we just relax for a bit. Maybe have some wine?"
"Ah, yes, please, that would be most welcome right now."
The demon poured a glass, handed it to the angel, then grabbed the only chair that wasn't part of the tangled mass and sat down. He pulled off his sunglasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and gave Aziraphale a look of genuine concern.
As Aziraphale gazed into the demon's golden eyes, their pupils wide and worried, his own pupils dilated to the size of dinner plates. He began to hyperventilate, and immediately leapt to his feet as his wings erupted from his back with a massive whoosh, rather like the burner in a hot air balloon turned on full-blast. The lefthand pile came tumbling down, yet his wings were so enormous and rigid that most of it bounced off, landing in cluttered heaps behind him.
The maneuvers Crowley undertook in exiting his seat – leaping backward, sideways, over and all but through the chair – would've been the envy of every Cirque de Soleil performer for generations, if they had happened to witness it. Somehow he managed to land on both feet and prevent further embarrassment. Arms wide, nostrils flared, his pupils contracted to needle-width as he took in this new sight.
"Angel... why are your wings out? And why are they... blue and gold?"
Breathing shakily, Aziraphale craned his neck to see over his own shoulders and was stunned. His formerly purely white feathers now had markings, pale blue and golden streaks and spots atop the white. They also had a subtle glow, which they never had outside of Heaven's confines.
"I... I think..." Aziraphale swallowed as his mind was flooded with a horrible sort of euphoria, and he whispered, "I believe they are... meant to be... mating colors...?"
There was a fraction of utter silence, which seemed to take countless sounds-of-music, as they stared aghast at each other.
Then Crowley finally barked out, "SO YOU'VE BEEN COMING ON TO ME THIS WHOLE TIME??"
+ + + + + + +
God chuckled lightly. "Ah, yes, now they've figured it out."
"What... wait a bloody minute," Satan said with a frown. "Is this what I think it is? Is this... is this A DATE??"
"They've had hundreds of those already. This is a proposal."
"A PROPOSAL?!?!"
God smiled and nodded.
"Meaning... they'll wind up HAVING SEX??"
"Very likely. It would seem they've been heading towards this resolution for a few thousand years."
"JUST A FUCKING MINUTE!" Satan yelped, leaping to his feet. "You said this was forbidden! You said NO SEX, not with ANYONE! You got so fucking pissed off when a few measly Watchers got some human females knocked up!"
God tsked. "With good reason. The original nephilim were a dangerous mix of genetics, you know it. And don't pretend you and the other fallen didn't 'mix it up' in Hell. Where did all those little imps and other hellions come from?"
Satan growled dangerously. "That was different! It was like in the Beginning, and there were no humans involved, like you commanded. Anyway, look at the mess it created Downstairs. They're useless, the lot of them."
"And of course you had a half-human child, just recently."
Satan's ears flushed, and he subconsciously rubbed his stomach. "Well... I figured the way around your rules was... to be the mother. Finding a host willing to die for it was harder than we thought. And men are just easier to get genetic material from anyway, and I – HEY! This is about THEM, not ME!"
"Of course, dear. Yes, this situation is like in the Very Beginning."
"Yeah, I remember. You made the first seven of us, then took a damned break. You really can't do more than seven things in a row before you're knackered, can you, old lady?" he smirked, taking his seat again.
"Funny. It was very exhausting for a first Great Act. But yes, I designed you first few, the seraphim, to reproduce in a way, just for a while. Just to shore up the numbers. Mix together your essences until there was a good variation of qualities and powers. Then I let the second generation do the same, and once there was a sufficient number of angels of every stripe to what I needed, I, well, turned that function off. Made everyone forget. Except apparently you, My little Rebel." God failed to look even a tiny bit remorseful.
Satan rolled his fiery red eyes at the Almighty. "Don't remind me that I'm literally the father of Legions of angelic children. Some of them are still Up There. None of them would believe that anyway."
God shrugged. "A bit reductionist, and they're not really quantifiable as 'children' considering there was no actual copulation or birthing in the traditional sense –"
"Whatever! Oh my fucking God..."
She did not rise to the potentials for a pun, but continued, "Once your legion of the fallen reached the mortal plane and took corporeal form to fit in, the ability to procreate was renewed and came with the capacity to intermingle with humans. Which I suppose I might've allowed if the offspring weren't so unexpectedly deadly to everyone involved, except the fathers."
Satan narrowed his eyes. "Unexpectedly? So you didn't already know what would happen? You're not omnipotent at all, are you?"
God raised Her hands. "I know Nearly Everything. But I designed humans to have free will, and sometimes that clouds what I can foresee. It allows Me to be surprised. Which can be nice, you know."
"Fine, Mary Poppins, you're still practically perfect in every way. But WHAT ABOUT THESE TWO IDIOTS???"
Smiling again, God said, "Watch."
"Fuuuuuck."
"Probably."
"STOP IT."
+ + + + + + +
Gradually Aziraphale's wings withdrew, and Crowley's posture relaxed. The demon sauntered slowly into the kitchenette where the ridiculously expansive banquet was laid out and waiting.
"So," he said when the angel joined him, "soooo sooooooooo many questions..."
"Likewise."
"You've made the bookshop into a bowerbird's wet dream. You gathered a meal fit for a Roman emperor, minus the vomitorium, thanks. You danced in ways that will give me nightmares for a century, and sang what I guess must be Heaven's equivalent of a panty-dropping torch song. Your wings are decked out for the Met Gala. And this was all... for me."
"So it would seem."
The demon turned to stare at the angel in fascination. "What happened to 'you go too fast for me, Crowley'? I figured when you said that in 1967 that if you ever, everrrr wanted things to speed up, it'd be when everyone on Earth was just a cyborg and there were no more restaurants to waste time in. And now... now you've hit Mach 3 without warning. I just... wow." He shook his head but he was smiling broadly. "I'm amazed. You do know that I wasn't hitting on you back then. Not really, anyway. I mean, sure, it would've been interesting –"
"Oh, Crowley, do shut up!" Aziraphale shouted, face bright red, as he clenched his hands tightly together. "I've never been so bloody embarrassed, and I don't understand why this is happening, but it feels so, damn it, so RIGHT. I do... I do care for you."
"Well, thanks much."
"And I believe you must, in your way, somewhat, care for me."
"Shut up," Crowley sneered, then grunted, "Yes."
"But why would I be so overwhelmed with these compulsions today? I've got to figure this out..."
A white light appeared at the ceiling, and both demon and angel yelped, jumping away as the beam reached the floor. A swirl of sparks appeared and coalesced into a book, which bobbed gently until Aziraphale gingerly plucked it out of the air.
"What the devil is that?" Crowley mumbled suspiciously.
"Ah, let's see." There was a heavy magical seal on the book, which Aziraphale unlocked carefully, then he flipped through the pages at maximum speed, reading it faster than any human could. "Ahhhh. It appears to be a history of... angelic... reproduction. The, ah, the how and the why, and... oh goodness, a sort of genetic lineage. Oh, my... It seems I was initially descended from Raphael and Camael... and you from Zadkiel and Jophiel. There are other generations both before and after us, but those are our original progenitors."
Crowley stood silently, mouth open, eyes unblinking, as Aziraphale gave an enormous sigh of relief. "Whew! Well, that's sorted. As I understand it, what I did today was an inbuilt instinct, severely delayed. Though still exceedingly odd behaviors, if you ask me..."
"So you're a late bloomer, what a shock." Crowley laughed sarcastically. "But COME ON! Is this for real? Who sent that book? Gotta be some damned practical joke. Is it Gabriel? Michael?"
"Oh, hardly likely. They severely disapprove of such things, especially after the nephilim. No, this seems to be a genuine history, written by the Metatron, on the Almighty's orders. As far as I can tell it's never been read until now, and I've certainly never heard of anything in it. But... um, well, let me explain..."
And he did, at length. Both of them giving silent thanks they weren't related directly to Gabriel, Michael, or Satan.
An hour later, after they'd eaten all seven courses, drunk every bottle of alcohol, and talked about some of their actual feelings – made far less awkward with the alcohol – then cleared the alcohol from their systems so they could talk seriously... they sat silently thinking at each other.
"So," Crowley began again, "what's the plan here? Is She giving us permission to, y'know, knock boots?"
"Um. Maybe?"
"So.... do you want to?"
".......... maybe..."
Crowley grinned widely enough to swallow the angel. Which is what he intended to do. "Ahem. I have an idea or two, if you're game. Since we're both gender flexible – me, obviously, a bit more than you – let's just, uh, mix it up a bit. Both male, both female, one of each. Maybe a little shape-shifting action. Oh! Did I ever tell you that female snakes have a cli –"
"Good Heavens!" Aziraphale blushed until his face nearly combusted. "One thing at a time, please! Oh, dear... You know, I could always entertain the concept of courtly love, even with you! It subsumed any sort of eroticism and was supposed to create spiritual fulfillment. Passionate, but highly disciplined."
"Well, we could –"
"Not in that way, and you know it! Morally elevating, even transcendent. The idea was complex though pure. But never to be... consummated in anything other than words or thoughts."
"It was a fantasy ideal that no one, I mean NO ONE, lived up to. You must know that, angel."
"Well, yes, I know. Humans and their inability to resist temptations. It's down to hormones and whatnot, I suppose."
"Exactly. Though I guess if anyone on the Earth could've managed the reality of the ideal, instead of just the spirit of it, it would be you." Crowley sighed, then lifted an eyebrow. "But now... what about now? I mean, things have reallllly changed in the last couple hours."
"Indeed. But still... It's all very new to me."
Crowley gasped, clutching at his invisible pearls. "Why, Mr. Fell! Never have you ever?"
"Of course not! It wasn't allowed, not in any form!"
"Well... me neither, actually."
Aziraphale regarded the demon with skepticism then, seeing no deception in those golden reptilian eyes or on that endearing face with its gentle smile, he let out a comforted sigh. "But, wait, weren't you hanging around with the Watchers when they fell? They were absolutely notorious for that... sort of thing."
"Hmm, yes and no. Some of them, sure. But I just thought... well, if She was gonna punish humans and angels alike for being clever, for asking questions and thinking too much, then I ought to teach them how to spread their ideas further. Taught 'em how to read and write."
A shock of understanding nearly discorporated Aziraphale's mind. "You – YOU were Penemue?"
"Yeah. You know I liked to change my name up once in a while. Wasn't a Watcher myself, though humans didn't understand the distinctions. Yeah, that was me, back then."
"Oh, my word. Oh, my... demon! My darling demon." Aziraphale swooped forward and captured the demon's lips with his own, and was rewarded with an embrace that warmed him to the very extent of his angelic being. When he finally pulled away for a breath, he whispered, "You are the love of my life, not books. If not for you, there would be no books at all. I cannot believe this."
Crowley's essence pulsed, drawing the angel closer. They held each other in a way neither had believed possible, and relaxed completely into each other. Two pieces of a two-piece puzzle that had finally interlocked, and neither Heaven nor Hell could tear those pieces apart.
"It's true," Crowley whispered against the angel's ear. "You know I've never lied to you."
"My dear, my dear... Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"Never seemed the right time, I guess."
"Well," Aziraphale drawled, grabbing Crowley's hands and standing up, "the right time for everything else... is right now."
They sprinted for the stairs together, up to the bedroom that was quickly materialized and waiting.
+ + + + + + +
God waved a finger and the television turned off. Satan shouted in disappointment.
"HEY! So we're not gonna watch the down-and-dirty?" he scoffed.
"I invited you here to watch the wedding, not the honeymoon."
"It was finally getting good! All that weird shit at the start, that angel's gone WAY too native. Oooh! It could be like a nature documentary! Can we get David Attenborough to narrate?"
"He wasn't available. Anyway, Sam– Satan, My Firstborn, My Spicedrop... We are to leave them both alone from now on. Complete freedom."
"Oh, come on!"
"Nope, My Decree is final. They are allowed to do as they wish. And if – IF – any progeny comes of this union, that, too, is off-limits to us both."
"... Fuck, I didn't think of that. Could they? Is it still possible?"
She shrugged, standing and brushing non-existent crumbs from her glowing white pantsuit. "I suppose it's ineff–"
"DON'T SAY IT."
"—able."
"You said it. Anyway... what makes them so bloody special that they get this smaltzy-but-raunchy happy ending?"
"Pretty much everything about them," the Almighty smiled softly. "But mostly I was growing tired of the eternal mamihlapinatapai."
"The what now?"
"Go read a book, My dear." She leaned down and pecked Satan on the cheek, which he promptly rubbed away, groaning. "And I'll see you for supper in August. It's Adam's birthday and I'd like to officially meet My grandson. So go make up with him before then."
Satan grunted in frustration. "Great. Family dinner. Just pull a lever and drop me down to superhell."
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + +
"Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins." ~ 1 Peter 4:8
Summary: A split-screen story, featuring God and Satan, and Aziraphale and Crowley, wherein the former pair watches the second pair doing things they've never done and would be hideously embarrassed if caught doing by anyone else, especially, say, God and Satan. (And it's still only rated PG-13, if you don't count the language.)
NOTES: Written for kingstoken, for the Good Omens Holiday Exchange.
On the ground floor of the tallest building in existence – the one that is located both everywhere on Earth and nowhere at once, which reaches both up to the Heavenly Spheres and down to the Circles of Hell, and which is impossible to see unless your eyes were designed for it (though it was once noticed by a man named Jacob who mistook it for a rather unique ladder) – is an even-more-well-hidden meeting room. Only two individuals in all of Creation know about this room. They use it once or twice a millennia to discuss world-altering plans, have a snack and drinks, and to gossip about their kingdoms.
YHWH, the Lord of Hosts, the Most High, I Am that I Am, the Almighty and One True God sat awaiting Her guest, sipping a cup of steaming Brownian motion and absently watching a wall-sized flat-screen television, which at the moment showed the streets of London where humans were busy doing normal human things.
Soon She was joined by the Morning Star, the Light Bringer, the Great Deceiver, Chief of Devils, the Accuser and He Whose Name is Legion, who sighed wearily as he took a seat next to his Parental Figure. "What's the big deal, El? I was really busy Downstairs."
"Nonsense, Samael, you were moping around because you were bored, like always."
"Don't deadname me, Mummy dearest," he scowled, but only lightly. "It's Satan now."
"As you wish. But I did give you that name, so it has special meaning to Me."
"Yeah, real special. Spice of God. And humans misinterpreted 'spice' as 'poison' so I'm to blame for wanting you dead."
"Or maybe just giving Me heartburn."
"Either way. They just believe what they wanna believe, they'll never understand the real truth, and they won't listen unless I scare the shit out of them first. They're stupid, and they suck, and so do You."
Even with those words, they both smiled a bit. It was a familiar and ludicrous debate, but at least he had verbally capitalized for Her sake. He was coming around. Slowly as molasses in the Ice Age.
"Anyway, My son, the big deal is this..." She blinked a radiant eye and the view on the television began to zoom across London, until it settled at the front door of a bookshop on a corner in Soho.
"Ugh. If I wanted to watch Hoarders or Antiques Roadshow I'd have stayed home and taped a plastic bag over my head until I blacked out."
God shushed him gently. "This is not a television program, silly. It's real life. And it's very important to us both."
"Real life? Are you being a voyeuristic freak again, El?"
"Again? I've never been. I just happen to see all. It's the way I Am."
"Same damned thing."
Tutting again, She merely offered a plate of biscotti to Her eldest son, and smiled when he took three. "Just watch. You'll see what I'm talking about."
On the television was a rather frumpy looking, slightly pudgy Principality, wearing clothing too many years out of date to truly count anymore. Satan knew who it was and he growled deep in his throat, causing him to briefly choke on his rapidly scarfed biscotti. He grabbed the spare cup of possibly-coffee to wash it down, then coughed once. "Yeah, I'm leaving now."
He was unable to rise from the chair. "Bit childish to strap me down, isn't it?"
"Behave, son, or I will turn it into a toddler chair and give you a binkie." When he stopped squirming and settled down with a pout, She waved a finger toward the tv again. "As I said, important. Watch."
Aziraphale was fretting far more than normal, even for the fussiest angel ever to walk the Earth on his own two corporeal feet. He felt restless in a way he'd never experienced, which seemed to be a mix of anxiety and hunger.
He'd been stricken with an odd compulsion to rearrange his bookshop, which was bad enough – keeping it in an order that made sense only to a being of celestial intent also kept it nearly fully stocked at all times, thus keeping him happy. But he simply couldn't stop thinking about how it looked until he'd rearranged literally everything in the front quarter of the store, facing the doorway.
Taking a few moments to breathe, he thought the feeling had eased. But he soon began absently moving furniture as well. Strange... It gave him a sense of excitement. And, he supposed, he could easily snap his fingers and return everything to its original positioning. In fact... why hadn't he done that when doing the rearranging in the first place? He supposed it just felt more... satisfying to do it with his own hands. So he shrugged and carried on.
An hour or so later, he was done with the repositioning of his environs. He desperately needed a cup of cocoa now. And maybe some crepes. With a side order of something savory... Oh dear, he'd need to miracle all that he was suddenly craving, unless he wanted to make a trip to the Ritz without Crowley.
By the time he'd finished snapping up what he desired, there was full seven-course epicurean meal with raw scallops, foie gras, turbot Veronique, sweetbreads, roasted pigeon in pears, two desserts, and a selection of wines and champagnes.
He stared in amazement at the spread. Even for his appetite, this was a bit much. But it was a shame to let it spoil, so perhaps he should have invited Crowley to dine.
No time like the present. A quick phone call, which left him oddly breathless, and the demon was on his way to the shop.
"What the ever-loving fuck did I just watch?" Satan drawled. "The twat's gone reverse-Marie Kondo on that motheaten tinderbox of crap. And now he's gonna gorge himself on the most pretentious layout I've seen since Vitellius. With one of my demons?"
God's lip curled with amusement. "One of yours? Is he, anymore?"
"Always. You promised whoever fell was mine for eternity."
"Ah, so I did. But I didn't promise anything about what happens if they should develop free will."
Scoffing loudly, he said, "That's just for humans." He looked askance at Her, saw that She was still smiling in a way that was designed to infuriate specifically him, and snarled, "Isn't it???"
"Of course, dear. Just for humans. And you. And apparently your own child. So why not a few others? Especially the ones with real imagination."
"Oh, for fuck's sake! You are CONSTANTLY changing the rules!!"
"My rules." She tapped the table gently with a fingernail to get his attention back on the issue. "Keep watching."
Before Crowley arrived, Aziraphale leapt up and started to pace. He'd never been so nervous or eager to see his old frenemy (such a clever word, and such clever humans to have invented it – something that rather nicely summed up their relationship). Why he was feeling this way, he couldn't quite fathom, but he imagined there must be an Important Reason.
As he heard the tires of the Bentley screeching to halt, no doubt half on the pavement and blocking the doorway, he stopped pacing, flicked dust off his coat and waistcoat, then noticed just how shabby they truly were. Oh dear. Maybe he should tidy himself up a bit...
But there was no time. Crowley had burst the doors open in that way he always did, like he was certain absolutely everyone on the other side of the door would be stunned into silent awe at the view.
And it was definitely working this time. On both of them.
Crowley took one look at the shop and his jaw virtually unhinged. His eyes swiveled from one spot to another, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. After a few seconds, he asked in a very low voice, "Angel, why are there two piles of furniture arranged like a gateway? How the hell did you get them to balance like that, and nearly to the ceiling? Why are there books and knickknacks all over the damned floor? And why are they all blue?"
"I, ah, I don't actually have a sensible response to any of that. It just... seemed the thing to do..." Aziraphale felt his brow begin to sweat, and he longed suddenly to have someone wipe it away for him. Preferably with their lips.
Where the hell had THAT thought come from??? The angel froze in horror. Then he began to fidget. His feet shuffled and his hands fluttered about, and eventually his entire body was moving in a somewhat peculiar way. And he couldn't seem to stop himself.
Crowley's eyes were bugged out so far that they nearly popped his sunglasses off his face. "Angel, are you... are you dancing?"
"I... yes, I think so...?" Aziraphale said a bit breathlessly. His movements were getting slightly more graceful now, as though he'd just remembered the steps to an ancient dance he learned once and never practiced since.
Not quite yet speechless, Crowley gave a bewildered laugh. "Is that some variation of the Snoopy Dance? I mean, it's got traces of the Gavotte, but clearly that's not what's happening here..." When Aziraphale looked about to crouch and take a different pose, Crowley held up both hands and cried, "Whoa! If you start twerking I'm gonna call an exorcist!"
"I don't even know what twerking is!" Aziraphale shouted, and suddenly his voice was raising by octaves and he began to sing his words. "What in the heavens is happening to meeee???" he intoned. His voice expressed multiple sounds no human throat could have managed, with overlaying notes that were far too pure and beautiful to be earthly.
Crowley jammed his fingers into his ears and shouted, "Damn it! Stop with the celestial harmonies! My ears are gonna start bleeding! Seriously, are you trying to discorporate me through contact embarrassment here??"
With a boom, the sounds stopped as Aziraphale shut his mouth. He wrestled his body to stop as well, and all but collapsed into the nearest chair, which was just barely available as it had one arm embedded in the lefthand pile of furniture. The pile teetered precariously but didn't dare to fall over and bury the deeply confused and humiliatied angel, no matter how much he wished it would.
"I'm sorry, Crowley, I literally have no idea what has come over me. I seem to have lost my mind, somehow..."
Feeling just a bit sorry for the angel now, Crowley approached cautiously. He wasn't sure exactly how to comfort his friend, especially since the sights and sounds he'd witnessed were things he was absolutely certain would haunt him to the (real) end of the Earth. "Pity we can't call someone Upstairs and ask if there's some kind of angelic virus you've caught. But why don't we just relax for a bit. Maybe have some wine?"
"Ah, yes, please, that would be most welcome right now."
The demon poured a glass, handed it to the angel, then grabbed the only chair that wasn't part of the tangled mass and sat down. He pulled off his sunglasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and gave Aziraphale a look of genuine concern.
As Aziraphale gazed into the demon's golden eyes, their pupils wide and worried, his own pupils dilated to the size of dinner plates. He began to hyperventilate, and immediately leapt to his feet as his wings erupted from his back with a massive whoosh, rather like the burner in a hot air balloon turned on full-blast. The lefthand pile came tumbling down, yet his wings were so enormous and rigid that most of it bounced off, landing in cluttered heaps behind him.
The maneuvers Crowley undertook in exiting his seat – leaping backward, sideways, over and all but through the chair – would've been the envy of every Cirque de Soleil performer for generations, if they had happened to witness it. Somehow he managed to land on both feet and prevent further embarrassment. Arms wide, nostrils flared, his pupils contracted to needle-width as he took in this new sight.
"Angel... why are your wings out? And why are they... blue and gold?"
Breathing shakily, Aziraphale craned his neck to see over his own shoulders and was stunned. His formerly purely white feathers now had markings, pale blue and golden streaks and spots atop the white. They also had a subtle glow, which they never had outside of Heaven's confines.
"I... I think..." Aziraphale swallowed as his mind was flooded with a horrible sort of euphoria, and he whispered, "I believe they are... meant to be... mating colors...?"
There was a fraction of utter silence, which seemed to take countless sounds-of-music, as they stared aghast at each other.
Then Crowley finally barked out, "SO YOU'VE BEEN COMING ON TO ME THIS WHOLE TIME??"
God chuckled lightly. "Ah, yes, now they've figured it out."
"What... wait a bloody minute," Satan said with a frown. "Is this what I think it is? Is this... is this A DATE??"
"They've had hundreds of those already. This is a proposal."
"A PROPOSAL?!?!"
God smiled and nodded.
"Meaning... they'll wind up HAVING SEX??"
"Very likely. It would seem they've been heading towards this resolution for a few thousand years."
"JUST A FUCKING MINUTE!" Satan yelped, leaping to his feet. "You said this was forbidden! You said NO SEX, not with ANYONE! You got so fucking pissed off when a few measly Watchers got some human females knocked up!"
God tsked. "With good reason. The original nephilim were a dangerous mix of genetics, you know it. And don't pretend you and the other fallen didn't 'mix it up' in Hell. Where did all those little imps and other hellions come from?"
Satan growled dangerously. "That was different! It was like in the Beginning, and there were no humans involved, like you commanded. Anyway, look at the mess it created Downstairs. They're useless, the lot of them."
"And of course you had a half-human child, just recently."
Satan's ears flushed, and he subconsciously rubbed his stomach. "Well... I figured the way around your rules was... to be the mother. Finding a host willing to die for it was harder than we thought. And men are just easier to get genetic material from anyway, and I – HEY! This is about THEM, not ME!"
"Of course, dear. Yes, this situation is like in the Very Beginning."
"Yeah, I remember. You made the first seven of us, then took a damned break. You really can't do more than seven things in a row before you're knackered, can you, old lady?" he smirked, taking his seat again.
"Funny. It was very exhausting for a first Great Act. But yes, I designed you first few, the seraphim, to reproduce in a way, just for a while. Just to shore up the numbers. Mix together your essences until there was a good variation of qualities and powers. Then I let the second generation do the same, and once there was a sufficient number of angels of every stripe to what I needed, I, well, turned that function off. Made everyone forget. Except apparently you, My little Rebel." God failed to look even a tiny bit remorseful.
Satan rolled his fiery red eyes at the Almighty. "Don't remind me that I'm literally the father of Legions of angelic children. Some of them are still Up There. None of them would believe that anyway."
God shrugged. "A bit reductionist, and they're not really quantifiable as 'children' considering there was no actual copulation or birthing in the traditional sense –"
"Whatever! Oh my fucking God..."
She did not rise to the potentials for a pun, but continued, "Once your legion of the fallen reached the mortal plane and took corporeal form to fit in, the ability to procreate was renewed and came with the capacity to intermingle with humans. Which I suppose I might've allowed if the offspring weren't so unexpectedly deadly to everyone involved, except the fathers."
Satan narrowed his eyes. "Unexpectedly? So you didn't already know what would happen? You're not omnipotent at all, are you?"
God raised Her hands. "I know Nearly Everything. But I designed humans to have free will, and sometimes that clouds what I can foresee. It allows Me to be surprised. Which can be nice, you know."
"Fine, Mary Poppins, you're still practically perfect in every way. But WHAT ABOUT THESE TWO IDIOTS???"
Smiling again, God said, "Watch."
"Fuuuuuck."
"Probably."
"STOP IT."
Gradually Aziraphale's wings withdrew, and Crowley's posture relaxed. The demon sauntered slowly into the kitchenette where the ridiculously expansive banquet was laid out and waiting.
"So," he said when the angel joined him, "soooo sooooooooo many questions..."
"Likewise."
"You've made the bookshop into a bowerbird's wet dream. You gathered a meal fit for a Roman emperor, minus the vomitorium, thanks. You danced in ways that will give me nightmares for a century, and sang what I guess must be Heaven's equivalent of a panty-dropping torch song. Your wings are decked out for the Met Gala. And this was all... for me."
"So it would seem."
The demon turned to stare at the angel in fascination. "What happened to 'you go too fast for me, Crowley'? I figured when you said that in 1967 that if you ever, everrrr wanted things to speed up, it'd be when everyone on Earth was just a cyborg and there were no more restaurants to waste time in. And now... now you've hit Mach 3 without warning. I just... wow." He shook his head but he was smiling broadly. "I'm amazed. You do know that I wasn't hitting on you back then. Not really, anyway. I mean, sure, it would've been interesting –"
"Oh, Crowley, do shut up!" Aziraphale shouted, face bright red, as he clenched his hands tightly together. "I've never been so bloody embarrassed, and I don't understand why this is happening, but it feels so, damn it, so RIGHT. I do... I do care for you."
"Well, thanks much."
"And I believe you must, in your way, somewhat, care for me."
"Shut up," Crowley sneered, then grunted, "Yes."
"But why would I be so overwhelmed with these compulsions today? I've got to figure this out..."
A white light appeared at the ceiling, and both demon and angel yelped, jumping away as the beam reached the floor. A swirl of sparks appeared and coalesced into a book, which bobbed gently until Aziraphale gingerly plucked it out of the air.
"What the devil is that?" Crowley mumbled suspiciously.
"Ah, let's see." There was a heavy magical seal on the book, which Aziraphale unlocked carefully, then he flipped through the pages at maximum speed, reading it faster than any human could. "Ahhhh. It appears to be a history of... angelic... reproduction. The, ah, the how and the why, and... oh goodness, a sort of genetic lineage. Oh, my... It seems I was initially descended from Raphael and Camael... and you from Zadkiel and Jophiel. There are other generations both before and after us, but those are our original progenitors."
Crowley stood silently, mouth open, eyes unblinking, as Aziraphale gave an enormous sigh of relief. "Whew! Well, that's sorted. As I understand it, what I did today was an inbuilt instinct, severely delayed. Though still exceedingly odd behaviors, if you ask me..."
"So you're a late bloomer, what a shock." Crowley laughed sarcastically. "But COME ON! Is this for real? Who sent that book? Gotta be some damned practical joke. Is it Gabriel? Michael?"
"Oh, hardly likely. They severely disapprove of such things, especially after the nephilim. No, this seems to be a genuine history, written by the Metatron, on the Almighty's orders. As far as I can tell it's never been read until now, and I've certainly never heard of anything in it. But... um, well, let me explain..."
And he did, at length. Both of them giving silent thanks they weren't related directly to Gabriel, Michael, or Satan.
An hour later, after they'd eaten all seven courses, drunk every bottle of alcohol, and talked about some of their actual feelings – made far less awkward with the alcohol – then cleared the alcohol from their systems so they could talk seriously... they sat silently thinking at each other.
"So," Crowley began again, "what's the plan here? Is She giving us permission to, y'know, knock boots?"
"Um. Maybe?"
"So.... do you want to?"
".......... maybe..."
Crowley grinned widely enough to swallow the angel. Which is what he intended to do. "Ahem. I have an idea or two, if you're game. Since we're both gender flexible – me, obviously, a bit more than you – let's just, uh, mix it up a bit. Both male, both female, one of each. Maybe a little shape-shifting action. Oh! Did I ever tell you that female snakes have a cli –"
"Good Heavens!" Aziraphale blushed until his face nearly combusted. "One thing at a time, please! Oh, dear... You know, I could always entertain the concept of courtly love, even with you! It subsumed any sort of eroticism and was supposed to create spiritual fulfillment. Passionate, but highly disciplined."
"Well, we could –"
"Not in that way, and you know it! Morally elevating, even transcendent. The idea was complex though pure. But never to be... consummated in anything other than words or thoughts."
"It was a fantasy ideal that no one, I mean NO ONE, lived up to. You must know that, angel."
"Well, yes, I know. Humans and their inability to resist temptations. It's down to hormones and whatnot, I suppose."
"Exactly. Though I guess if anyone on the Earth could've managed the reality of the ideal, instead of just the spirit of it, it would be you." Crowley sighed, then lifted an eyebrow. "But now... what about now? I mean, things have reallllly changed in the last couple hours."
"Indeed. But still... It's all very new to me."
Crowley gasped, clutching at his invisible pearls. "Why, Mr. Fell! Never have you ever?"
"Of course not! It wasn't allowed, not in any form!"
"Well... me neither, actually."
Aziraphale regarded the demon with skepticism then, seeing no deception in those golden reptilian eyes or on that endearing face with its gentle smile, he let out a comforted sigh. "But, wait, weren't you hanging around with the Watchers when they fell? They were absolutely notorious for that... sort of thing."
"Hmm, yes and no. Some of them, sure. But I just thought... well, if She was gonna punish humans and angels alike for being clever, for asking questions and thinking too much, then I ought to teach them how to spread their ideas further. Taught 'em how to read and write."
A shock of understanding nearly discorporated Aziraphale's mind. "You – YOU were Penemue?"
"Yeah. You know I liked to change my name up once in a while. Wasn't a Watcher myself, though humans didn't understand the distinctions. Yeah, that was me, back then."
"Oh, my word. Oh, my... demon! My darling demon." Aziraphale swooped forward and captured the demon's lips with his own, and was rewarded with an embrace that warmed him to the very extent of his angelic being. When he finally pulled away for a breath, he whispered, "You are the love of my life, not books. If not for you, there would be no books at all. I cannot believe this."
Crowley's essence pulsed, drawing the angel closer. They held each other in a way neither had believed possible, and relaxed completely into each other. Two pieces of a two-piece puzzle that had finally interlocked, and neither Heaven nor Hell could tear those pieces apart.
"It's true," Crowley whispered against the angel's ear. "You know I've never lied to you."
"My dear, my dear... Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"Never seemed the right time, I guess."
"Well," Aziraphale drawled, grabbing Crowley's hands and standing up, "the right time for everything else... is right now."
They sprinted for the stairs together, up to the bedroom that was quickly materialized and waiting.
God waved a finger and the television turned off. Satan shouted in disappointment.
"HEY! So we're not gonna watch the down-and-dirty?" he scoffed.
"I invited you here to watch the wedding, not the honeymoon."
"It was finally getting good! All that weird shit at the start, that angel's gone WAY too native. Oooh! It could be like a nature documentary! Can we get David Attenborough to narrate?"
"He wasn't available. Anyway, Sam– Satan, My Firstborn, My Spicedrop... We are to leave them both alone from now on. Complete freedom."
"Oh, come on!"
"Nope, My Decree is final. They are allowed to do as they wish. And if – IF – any progeny comes of this union, that, too, is off-limits to us both."
"... Fuck, I didn't think of that. Could they? Is it still possible?"
She shrugged, standing and brushing non-existent crumbs from her glowing white pantsuit. "I suppose it's ineff–"
"DON'T SAY IT."
"—able."
"You said it. Anyway... what makes them so bloody special that they get this smaltzy-but-raunchy happy ending?"
"Pretty much everything about them," the Almighty smiled softly. "But mostly I was growing tired of the eternal mamihlapinatapai."
"The what now?"
"Go read a book, My dear." She leaned down and pecked Satan on the cheek, which he promptly rubbed away, groaning. "And I'll see you for supper in August. It's Adam's birthday and I'd like to officially meet My grandson. So go make up with him before then."
Satan grunted in frustration. "Great. Family dinner. Just pull a lever and drop me down to superhell."
"Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins." ~ 1 Peter 4:8
Wonderful
Date: 2022-12-23 11:15 am (UTC)Re: Wonderful
Date: 2023-01-08 05:03 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2022-12-23 03:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-08 05:05 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2022-12-24 10:40 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-08 05:06 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-08 05:19 am (UTC)“The maneuvers Crowley undertook in exiting his seat – leaping backward, sideways, over and all but through the chair – would've been the envy of every Cirque de Soleil performer for generations” XD
HE’S DOING BIRD MATING RITUALS OH MY GOD
“"You are the love of my life, not books. If not for you, there would be no books at all. I cannot believe this."” Awww
“mamihlapinatapai” Ok this is a fantastic word, thank you for making me look it up!
Fldfsjalk superhell
This was funny XD I especially loved Aziraphale’s wings!! I normally like they having plain white wings, but for SPECIAL occasions, and this is certainly that, those colors are great!
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-08 05:07 pm (UTC)