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vulgarweed!
Dec. 16th, 2007 06:48 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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go_exchangeTitle: Right Honorable
Author:dreadpirateandi
Characters: Crowley/Aziraphale, Adam, The Them, Anathema/Newt, mention of Agnes/Adultery
Rating: NC-17, I suppose. It’s a bit porny.
Author Notes: Wow. My original intent was to write you a nice little PWP. But then it just sort of grew a plot out of nowhere. I’m terribly sorry. I don’t know how it could have happened. I hope you enjoy! Merry nondenomenational festivities to you!
“Christ didn’t live forever,” said Anathema, her voice gentle. She turned to look at Newt, who shrugged lankily. The young man standing in the doorway of their house pushed his hair out of his eyes in a frustrated motion. He couldn’t have been younger than twenty, but his body moved as bonelessly as a child’s.
“So that’s it? I’ll just…” He fluttered his left hand in the air in a vague gesture that somehow conveyed the idea of aging, dying, and being eaten by maggots.
Anathema laid her hand against the curve of her belly and smiled. “There’s no… no protocol for your continued life. Your mortal form was supposed to end when the world did. You’d have rejoined your dad for an eternity of father-son fishing trips in the pool of forgetfulness, and that is not for you, Dog.”
Dog returned all four paws to the floor and tried very hard to look as if he had not been nosing tenderly at the half-sliced roast on the table.
“But the world didn’t end,” said Adam Young, “It’s still going, and the people are still going, and they’re still being fools about all of it. The whales an’ the rainforests an’ the cars an’ all.”
Anathema waited.
“And I can’t fix it with the…you know, the power, because there’s free will an’ there’s ineffability an’ it wouldn’t be…” He laid his hand on Dog’s head, and Dog drooled helpfully on his trousers. “It wouldn’t be right. It’s got to happen from the inside. Not from meddlin’.”
Newt unfolded himself from his armchair and put down his newspaper and pen. A few carefully drawn circles pointed out various headlines on the front page. Renowned Doctor Releases Supportive Paper on Polythelia was circled twice and underlined with emphatic red ink.
“Seems to me, Adam,” he said in his slow, unobtrusive voice, “That what you need is human power. Power in the, um, context of this world.”
Anathema touched his hand, and he put a long, angular arm around her shoulders. Adam frowned with the earnest solemnity that rarely lingers past the age of ten.
“I could change things,” he said slowly, “I mean really do it, not just snap my fingers and make it happen.”
Anathema waited, smiling.
“But –” He paused and looked down at his hands, then back up. “I might fail,” he said.
“That’s the thing about being human,” Anathema told him gently, putting her hand out for Dog to lick.
***
“I’m leaving,” said Adam, and cries of outrage arose from the Them. Pepper, no less tomboyish and leggy than she’d been in the throes of reluctant adolescence, pushed her unruly red hair out of her eyes and shot him a freckly scowl.
“Leaving Tadfield?” Wensleydale cried, horrified. “Why would you ever –”
Adam raised a staying hand, and it quelled them as it always had.
“I’m going to London. I’m going to fix everything from the inside. And –” He took a deep breath and rubbed the palms of his hands together. “I want you to come with me.”
And of course, they did.
Whether there was something not entirely natural about the way the leader of the Green party suddenly decided that politics wasn’t his forte and hopped a plane to Madagascar was left for the Them to wonder, but when Adam knocked twice on the door of a small, dusty-windowed shop in SoHo, they began to murmur among themselves that maybe this madcap scheme of Adam’s wasn’t so madcap after all.
“Goodness,” said Aziraphale, pushing the door shut behind him and straightening his sweater. “What a surprise.”
“Hello, Aziraphale,” said Adam, glancing down and then meeting the eyes of the very slightly disheveled angel in the doorway. “I’ve come to fix the government.”
Aziraphale nodded seriously. “Crowley’s rather better at politics than I am. Particularly parliamentary procedure; he’s the only entity in the country that actually enjoys sessions of the Prime Minister’s Questions. I think they’re like a football match to him.”
“You’re still in touch with Crowley, yeah?” Adam’s eyes flicked to the door and back to Aziraphale, who coughed a little and then nodded.
“But,” he said hastily, “He’s not here right now. He’s at his flat, I imagine. Or maybe he’s delaying trains on the Underground. In any case, he certainly isn’t here. I haven’t seen him. Perhaps he’s gone to Venice.” As he spoke, he backed through the doorframe with an air as if he was hoping they wouldn’t notice that he was moving. “I am terribly glad that you’ve come to the city, and I’m certainly going to help you in your task; However, I’m terribly busy at the moment – just got in a brand new – brand old, that is – rather exciting – come back tomorrow and we’ll discuss strategy – please feel free to – excuse me, I beg your pardon, I’ve really got to get back to work, please do come back tomorrow –”
The door clicked shut, and Adam exchanged glances with the Them for a moment before heading for the nearest hostel, trailing murmurs about ineffability.
***
Aziraphale listened at the door until they’d gone away, then put the chain back on, polished his glasses, and walked into the back room where he had a demon bound spread-eagle to his table.
Crowley was wearing a blindfold, and beneath it, an annoyed scowl. “Angel,” he began, his voice a growl, at Aziraphale’s quiet footstep.
“Be quiet,” said Aziraphale mildly, “or I’ll gag you again.” Crowley gave a grunt of annoyance, then fell silent for a brief moment before a throaty moan was forced from his throat by the feeling of Aziraphale’s tongue on the inside of his thigh. Of course the demon was hard; he had been for what felt like hours now, waiting and groaning and sometimes snarling while Aziraphale flitted about, touching him. A slow tip-of-the-tongue wandering here, a brief scrape of the nails there, the hot shock of teeth on his left nipple; just enough teasing to keep him interested – squirming, even – but nowhere near enough. Crowley was seriously considering miracling the ceiling down, just for the physical contact.
“Perhaps you’ve waited long enough,” mused Aziraphale, lips so close to Crowley’s cock that each word was a physical caress.
“I’d bloody well say that I have,” gasped the demon, arching his hips towards Aziraphale’s mouth and making him chuckle and move away.
“Ah,” he said, “That’s the sort of discourtesy that makes me think it might be a good idea to go and alphabetize my bibles.” Crowley heard him get to his feet and felt a wave of decidedly undemonic panic.
“No,” he said quickly, “No, I’m sorry. Please don’t go.”
His plea sounded very loud in the small, dusty room, and he could hear the smile in Aziraphale’s voice as he said, “Very well. It’s a lucky thing for you, my dear, that you beg so very prettily.”
There was a pause so drawn-out that Crowley began to wonder if Aziraphale hadn’t accidentally discorporated himself.
A touch, feather-light, drifted up his thigh, and his body trembled with the effort of keeping still.
“How,” he began, then realize he hadn’t breathed in too long to speak and paused to fill his lungs, shakily. “How can I convince you? What do you want me to do? Please.”
Surely there wasn’t supposed to be enough blood in his body to make him this hard.
“Say ‘please’ again,” ordered Aziraphale, licking a searing line from base to tip so quickly that it could have been imaginary. And Crowley, ever-obliging, said “please” again, several times and with increasing sincerity as Aziraphale’s mouth closed around him and everything became fire.
At the last second – as he began to crest, staring helplessly down at the void into which he was about to plummet, Aziraphale released him with a soft, wet sound and the table creaked as the weight of one ethereal body became the weight of two.
“Ngah,” said Crowley, “Don’t –” But Aziraphale’s nimble hand was already around his cock, moving in a hot, relentless blur as the angel’s other hand moved up his cheek and, with a quick wrench, tossed the blindfold aside.
“Look at me,” whispered Aziraphale, closing his fingers hard as Crowley arched and gasped and was dazzled by the brightness.
Br-r-r-r-r-r. Br-r-r-r-r-r-r¬.
“’lo?”
“Er. Adam? Hello, can you hear me?”
“Yes, I can hear you. Aziraphale?”
“Oh. Yes. Hello, my dear boy. I – well, I wanted to, well – what I mean is, if you and your…compatriots should like to join myself and Mr. Crowley for tea this afternoon, we can converse – that is, discuss strategies for your amicable takeover of the, er, the government system.”
“Yeah, that would be great. We’ll be over in a few hours.”
“Very well, very well. Goodbye, dear boy.”
“Thank you. Um. Bye.”
Click
“Goodbye, Adam. I’ll see you this – blast.”
“Angel, was that a profanity I heard from your ever-so-sanctified lips?”
“Er. Technically.”
“We can’t have that.”
The aforementioned lips were soon put to other uses, and though more profanity was produced, it was, for the most part, condoned.
***
Consider, dear reader, if you will, a political campaign consisting of the following: an obscenely well-read angel, a slick-as-sin demon who, with sufficient motivation, could be persuaded to show up on a video camera, an Antichrist who actually surpassed Diana in wide-eyed, earnest credibility, computer-minded Wensleydale, who took the campaign to the virtual streets, passionate Pepper, who whipped crowds into a frenzy of environmentalist rage, and sensible Brian, who kept all their papers in order and made sure that Dog never pooed on the Parliament’s rug.
"Her Majesty the Queen,” said Adam, his voice deceptively steady, “has asked me to form an administration. And –” He glanced behind him at his campaign team. Aziraphale smiled serenely. Pepper gave him the thumbs-up. “And I have accepted."
Crowley stood up and gave a quiet, subtle throat-clear that everybody in the huge room could hear, and Adam bowed lankily and retreated to the row of chairs. Crowley tapped lightly on the microphone with a pale fingertip and then murmured out a charismatic, tactful, and utterly forgettable speech.
“They’re going to wonder why he always keeps his sunglasses on,” Adam murmured into Aziraphale’s ear, and the angel gave a rueful smile.
“He almost never takes them off,” he said, almost fondly, “He even left them on the first time we –” He froze, his mouth open. “Erm. Ah. The first time we went to the pictures.”
“They’ll think he’s hungover,” hissed Brian.
“They’ll think worse if he takes them off,” snapped Pepper under her breath. “We’ll just pretend he’s rock’n’roll.”
Adam just looked at Aziraphale quietly until the tips of Aziraphale’s ears went pink.
***
“The honorable Prime Minister has allocated the funds previously intended for developing factories in the Northern outskirts of London to an excessively costly campaign in favor of the rainforests.” The man’s bowtie bobbed just beneath his wobbling chin as he spat the last word out like a curse. “How on earth does he justify this absurd decision?” Incomprehensible yells erupted from both sides of the house.
“Order,” Aziraphale said, calmly and to no effect. He pushed his spectacles up his nose and looked helplessly from the bellowing, unruly Labor party to the bellowing, unruly opposition.
Adam rose elegantly to his feet and raised one hand; the crowd murmured into quiet. “I thank the Right Honorable Mister Cameron for his expression of concern, as I’m sure my reallocation of funds has raised many eyebrows ‘round the…’round the parties.”
“I call upon my colleagues to notice how the Honorable Prime Minister is still wet behind the ears –”
“Order,” cried Aziraphale, throwing his hands into the air, “I will have order!”
“Mister Cameron,” said Adam, “Please be aware that I wouldn’t take any action without putting the good of our nation as my top priority. But it has come to my attention that the country of England is actually a part of the planet earth. And as such –” He leveled a quietly penetrative gaze at the man, who seemed to wilt slightly, “We have as much responsibility as any of our neighbors – more, even, I would venture to say, as one among the most enlightened countries on our planet – to preserve the future of the environment. It’s my duty as your prime minister to think, not only of our nation’s present, but of the future.”
Mr. Cameron sank back into his chair, lips pressed tightly together, and Adam grinned and ducked his head shyly to approving murmurs from both sides of the house. Crowley, behind Aziraphale, laid a hand on his shoulder.
***
“To the whales!” Adam cried, lifting his pint so that it sloshed over his fingers and taking a joyful gulp.
“Decorum, Adam, please,” hissed Brian, trying to pry the mug from his hand.
“Oh, shhhush,” said Adam, giggling in a manly fashion. “Our bill passed! We have to celebrate!”
“Hear hear,” said Crowley enthusiastically, toasting Adam with his wine, and Aziraphale smiled into his own glass.
“In this case,” he murmured, “I think decorum may be put on hold for the sake of festivity. We’ve all worked hard for this.” Pepper agreed wordlessly, nose buried in her beer, and Wensleydale eyed his mug dubiously.
Hours later, Brian and Pepper had vanished somewhere, moon-eyed and whispering, and Wensleydale had wobbled to his feet after three-quarters of a pint and fled to his own small, cat-filled domicile. Adam was engaging in earnest debate with the barstool off of which he had recently been a victim of the cruel hand of gravity, and Crowley and Aziraphale were watching him fondly and holding hands under the table.
“Beer is one of mine, you know, from way back.”
“Quiet, demon.”
“Kiss me.”
“All right.”
“I tol’ you th’you had t’stay still. Stop movin’ so I c’n get back up!”
Thump.
If you had forced Anthony J. Crowley to guess what manner of drunk the Antichrist would turn out to be, his answer would likely have been “catastrophically destructive,” and then he would likely have cheerfully lit you on fire for trying to force him to do anything. That aside, one thing he almost certainly would not have guessed is “cuddly.”
“You’re th’best speaker of th’house ever, Az – Azipha – Azirale – buggr’it.” Adam gave up on words and appeared to be trying to climb into Crowley’s arms as the two amused metaphysical beings wrangled him back to his flat. Aziraphale poured some water down Adam’s throat and tucked him, all squirming, angular limbs, into bed.
“The Right Honorable Prime Minister ought to get some sleep,” the angel murmured, brushing some golden hair back off of Adam’s face as Crowley’s arm snaked around his waist.
“Objection,” said Adam sleepily, “Stay with me.”
***
“It was what he was supposed to do, I suppose,” said Anathema into the phone. “Of course it was. But it really seemed like his idea this time.”
There was a noncommittal noise from the line, and Anathema continued. “Either way, he’s doing what is known in casual circles as a bang-up job. The rest of Europe is looking to London. And the whales campaign! You can only imagine, Grandmum.”
Agnes Nutter’s voice was slightly crackly in the earpiece. “Ie can fee itte, Annathyma, deare. Thee whole thyng loockef muche greenyre nowe. Ande doefn’t Tibette looke lovvely. Alle fulle offe holef.”
“…Tibet, Grandmum?”
“Ande it’f goode thatte thowse twoe celeftialle trowblemakyrf havve fomethynge towe dowe wyth theire tyme befidef nocke bootf. Oh mye! Adultyry, ftoppe thatte. Yowe olde skowndrel. Ooh!”
“Good night, grandmum.”
Click.
Enjoy,vulgarweed, from your Secret Author!
Author:
dreadpirateandiCharacters: Crowley/Aziraphale, Adam, The Them, Anathema/Newt, mention of Agnes/Adultery
Rating: NC-17, I suppose. It’s a bit porny.
Author Notes: Wow. My original intent was to write you a nice little PWP. But then it just sort of grew a plot out of nowhere. I’m terribly sorry. I don’t know how it could have happened. I hope you enjoy! Merry nondenomenational festivities to you!
“Christ didn’t live forever,” said Anathema, her voice gentle. She turned to look at Newt, who shrugged lankily. The young man standing in the doorway of their house pushed his hair out of his eyes in a frustrated motion. He couldn’t have been younger than twenty, but his body moved as bonelessly as a child’s.
“So that’s it? I’ll just…” He fluttered his left hand in the air in a vague gesture that somehow conveyed the idea of aging, dying, and being eaten by maggots.
Anathema laid her hand against the curve of her belly and smiled. “There’s no… no protocol for your continued life. Your mortal form was supposed to end when the world did. You’d have rejoined your dad for an eternity of father-son fishing trips in the pool of forgetfulness, and that is not for you, Dog.”
Dog returned all four paws to the floor and tried very hard to look as if he had not been nosing tenderly at the half-sliced roast on the table.
“But the world didn’t end,” said Adam Young, “It’s still going, and the people are still going, and they’re still being fools about all of it. The whales an’ the rainforests an’ the cars an’ all.”
Anathema waited.
“And I can’t fix it with the…you know, the power, because there’s free will an’ there’s ineffability an’ it wouldn’t be…” He laid his hand on Dog’s head, and Dog drooled helpfully on his trousers. “It wouldn’t be right. It’s got to happen from the inside. Not from meddlin’.”
Newt unfolded himself from his armchair and put down his newspaper and pen. A few carefully drawn circles pointed out various headlines on the front page. Renowned Doctor Releases Supportive Paper on Polythelia was circled twice and underlined with emphatic red ink.
“Seems to me, Adam,” he said in his slow, unobtrusive voice, “That what you need is human power. Power in the, um, context of this world.”
Anathema touched his hand, and he put a long, angular arm around her shoulders. Adam frowned with the earnest solemnity that rarely lingers past the age of ten.
“I could change things,” he said slowly, “I mean really do it, not just snap my fingers and make it happen.”
Anathema waited, smiling.
“But –” He paused and looked down at his hands, then back up. “I might fail,” he said.
“That’s the thing about being human,” Anathema told him gently, putting her hand out for Dog to lick.
***
“I’m leaving,” said Adam, and cries of outrage arose from the Them. Pepper, no less tomboyish and leggy than she’d been in the throes of reluctant adolescence, pushed her unruly red hair out of her eyes and shot him a freckly scowl.
“Leaving Tadfield?” Wensleydale cried, horrified. “Why would you ever –”
Adam raised a staying hand, and it quelled them as it always had.
“I’m going to London. I’m going to fix everything from the inside. And –” He took a deep breath and rubbed the palms of his hands together. “I want you to come with me.”
And of course, they did.
Whether there was something not entirely natural about the way the leader of the Green party suddenly decided that politics wasn’t his forte and hopped a plane to Madagascar was left for the Them to wonder, but when Adam knocked twice on the door of a small, dusty-windowed shop in SoHo, they began to murmur among themselves that maybe this madcap scheme of Adam’s wasn’t so madcap after all.
“Goodness,” said Aziraphale, pushing the door shut behind him and straightening his sweater. “What a surprise.”
“Hello, Aziraphale,” said Adam, glancing down and then meeting the eyes of the very slightly disheveled angel in the doorway. “I’ve come to fix the government.”
Aziraphale nodded seriously. “Crowley’s rather better at politics than I am. Particularly parliamentary procedure; he’s the only entity in the country that actually enjoys sessions of the Prime Minister’s Questions. I think they’re like a football match to him.”
“You’re still in touch with Crowley, yeah?” Adam’s eyes flicked to the door and back to Aziraphale, who coughed a little and then nodded.
“But,” he said hastily, “He’s not here right now. He’s at his flat, I imagine. Or maybe he’s delaying trains on the Underground. In any case, he certainly isn’t here. I haven’t seen him. Perhaps he’s gone to Venice.” As he spoke, he backed through the doorframe with an air as if he was hoping they wouldn’t notice that he was moving. “I am terribly glad that you’ve come to the city, and I’m certainly going to help you in your task; However, I’m terribly busy at the moment – just got in a brand new – brand old, that is – rather exciting – come back tomorrow and we’ll discuss strategy – please feel free to – excuse me, I beg your pardon, I’ve really got to get back to work, please do come back tomorrow –”
The door clicked shut, and Adam exchanged glances with the Them for a moment before heading for the nearest hostel, trailing murmurs about ineffability.
***
Aziraphale listened at the door until they’d gone away, then put the chain back on, polished his glasses, and walked into the back room where he had a demon bound spread-eagle to his table.
Crowley was wearing a blindfold, and beneath it, an annoyed scowl. “Angel,” he began, his voice a growl, at Aziraphale’s quiet footstep.
“Be quiet,” said Aziraphale mildly, “or I’ll gag you again.” Crowley gave a grunt of annoyance, then fell silent for a brief moment before a throaty moan was forced from his throat by the feeling of Aziraphale’s tongue on the inside of his thigh. Of course the demon was hard; he had been for what felt like hours now, waiting and groaning and sometimes snarling while Aziraphale flitted about, touching him. A slow tip-of-the-tongue wandering here, a brief scrape of the nails there, the hot shock of teeth on his left nipple; just enough teasing to keep him interested – squirming, even – but nowhere near enough. Crowley was seriously considering miracling the ceiling down, just for the physical contact.
“Perhaps you’ve waited long enough,” mused Aziraphale, lips so close to Crowley’s cock that each word was a physical caress.
“I’d bloody well say that I have,” gasped the demon, arching his hips towards Aziraphale’s mouth and making him chuckle and move away.
“Ah,” he said, “That’s the sort of discourtesy that makes me think it might be a good idea to go and alphabetize my bibles.” Crowley heard him get to his feet and felt a wave of decidedly undemonic panic.
“No,” he said quickly, “No, I’m sorry. Please don’t go.”
His plea sounded very loud in the small, dusty room, and he could hear the smile in Aziraphale’s voice as he said, “Very well. It’s a lucky thing for you, my dear, that you beg so very prettily.”
There was a pause so drawn-out that Crowley began to wonder if Aziraphale hadn’t accidentally discorporated himself.
A touch, feather-light, drifted up his thigh, and his body trembled with the effort of keeping still.
“How,” he began, then realize he hadn’t breathed in too long to speak and paused to fill his lungs, shakily. “How can I convince you? What do you want me to do? Please.”
Surely there wasn’t supposed to be enough blood in his body to make him this hard.
“Say ‘please’ again,” ordered Aziraphale, licking a searing line from base to tip so quickly that it could have been imaginary. And Crowley, ever-obliging, said “please” again, several times and with increasing sincerity as Aziraphale’s mouth closed around him and everything became fire.
At the last second – as he began to crest, staring helplessly down at the void into which he was about to plummet, Aziraphale released him with a soft, wet sound and the table creaked as the weight of one ethereal body became the weight of two.
“Ngah,” said Crowley, “Don’t –” But Aziraphale’s nimble hand was already around his cock, moving in a hot, relentless blur as the angel’s other hand moved up his cheek and, with a quick wrench, tossed the blindfold aside.
“Look at me,” whispered Aziraphale, closing his fingers hard as Crowley arched and gasped and was dazzled by the brightness.
Br-r-r-r-r-r. Br-r-r-r-r-r-r¬.
“’lo?”
“Er. Adam? Hello, can you hear me?”
“Yes, I can hear you. Aziraphale?”
“Oh. Yes. Hello, my dear boy. I – well, I wanted to, well – what I mean is, if you and your…compatriots should like to join myself and Mr. Crowley for tea this afternoon, we can converse – that is, discuss strategies for your amicable takeover of the, er, the government system.”
“Yeah, that would be great. We’ll be over in a few hours.”
“Very well, very well. Goodbye, dear boy.”
“Thank you. Um. Bye.”
Click
“Goodbye, Adam. I’ll see you this – blast.”
“Angel, was that a profanity I heard from your ever-so-sanctified lips?”
“Er. Technically.”
“We can’t have that.”
The aforementioned lips were soon put to other uses, and though more profanity was produced, it was, for the most part, condoned.
***
Consider, dear reader, if you will, a political campaign consisting of the following: an obscenely well-read angel, a slick-as-sin demon who, with sufficient motivation, could be persuaded to show up on a video camera, an Antichrist who actually surpassed Diana in wide-eyed, earnest credibility, computer-minded Wensleydale, who took the campaign to the virtual streets, passionate Pepper, who whipped crowds into a frenzy of environmentalist rage, and sensible Brian, who kept all their papers in order and made sure that Dog never pooed on the Parliament’s rug.
"Her Majesty the Queen,” said Adam, his voice deceptively steady, “has asked me to form an administration. And –” He glanced behind him at his campaign team. Aziraphale smiled serenely. Pepper gave him the thumbs-up. “And I have accepted."
Crowley stood up and gave a quiet, subtle throat-clear that everybody in the huge room could hear, and Adam bowed lankily and retreated to the row of chairs. Crowley tapped lightly on the microphone with a pale fingertip and then murmured out a charismatic, tactful, and utterly forgettable speech.
“They’re going to wonder why he always keeps his sunglasses on,” Adam murmured into Aziraphale’s ear, and the angel gave a rueful smile.
“He almost never takes them off,” he said, almost fondly, “He even left them on the first time we –” He froze, his mouth open. “Erm. Ah. The first time we went to the pictures.”
“They’ll think he’s hungover,” hissed Brian.
“They’ll think worse if he takes them off,” snapped Pepper under her breath. “We’ll just pretend he’s rock’n’roll.”
Adam just looked at Aziraphale quietly until the tips of Aziraphale’s ears went pink.
***
“The honorable Prime Minister has allocated the funds previously intended for developing factories in the Northern outskirts of London to an excessively costly campaign in favor of the rainforests.” The man’s bowtie bobbed just beneath his wobbling chin as he spat the last word out like a curse. “How on earth does he justify this absurd decision?” Incomprehensible yells erupted from both sides of the house.
“Order,” Aziraphale said, calmly and to no effect. He pushed his spectacles up his nose and looked helplessly from the bellowing, unruly Labor party to the bellowing, unruly opposition.
Adam rose elegantly to his feet and raised one hand; the crowd murmured into quiet. “I thank the Right Honorable Mister Cameron for his expression of concern, as I’m sure my reallocation of funds has raised many eyebrows ‘round the…’round the parties.”
“I call upon my colleagues to notice how the Honorable Prime Minister is still wet behind the ears –”
“Order,” cried Aziraphale, throwing his hands into the air, “I will have order!”
“Mister Cameron,” said Adam, “Please be aware that I wouldn’t take any action without putting the good of our nation as my top priority. But it has come to my attention that the country of England is actually a part of the planet earth. And as such –” He leveled a quietly penetrative gaze at the man, who seemed to wilt slightly, “We have as much responsibility as any of our neighbors – more, even, I would venture to say, as one among the most enlightened countries on our planet – to preserve the future of the environment. It’s my duty as your prime minister to think, not only of our nation’s present, but of the future.”
Mr. Cameron sank back into his chair, lips pressed tightly together, and Adam grinned and ducked his head shyly to approving murmurs from both sides of the house. Crowley, behind Aziraphale, laid a hand on his shoulder.
***
“To the whales!” Adam cried, lifting his pint so that it sloshed over his fingers and taking a joyful gulp.
“Decorum, Adam, please,” hissed Brian, trying to pry the mug from his hand.
“Oh, shhhush,” said Adam, giggling in a manly fashion. “Our bill passed! We have to celebrate!”
“Hear hear,” said Crowley enthusiastically, toasting Adam with his wine, and Aziraphale smiled into his own glass.
“In this case,” he murmured, “I think decorum may be put on hold for the sake of festivity. We’ve all worked hard for this.” Pepper agreed wordlessly, nose buried in her beer, and Wensleydale eyed his mug dubiously.
Hours later, Brian and Pepper had vanished somewhere, moon-eyed and whispering, and Wensleydale had wobbled to his feet after three-quarters of a pint and fled to his own small, cat-filled domicile. Adam was engaging in earnest debate with the barstool off of which he had recently been a victim of the cruel hand of gravity, and Crowley and Aziraphale were watching him fondly and holding hands under the table.
“Beer is one of mine, you know, from way back.”
“Quiet, demon.”
“Kiss me.”
“All right.”
“I tol’ you th’you had t’stay still. Stop movin’ so I c’n get back up!”
Thump.
If you had forced Anthony J. Crowley to guess what manner of drunk the Antichrist would turn out to be, his answer would likely have been “catastrophically destructive,” and then he would likely have cheerfully lit you on fire for trying to force him to do anything. That aside, one thing he almost certainly would not have guessed is “cuddly.”
“You’re th’best speaker of th’house ever, Az – Azipha – Azirale – buggr’it.” Adam gave up on words and appeared to be trying to climb into Crowley’s arms as the two amused metaphysical beings wrangled him back to his flat. Aziraphale poured some water down Adam’s throat and tucked him, all squirming, angular limbs, into bed.
“The Right Honorable Prime Minister ought to get some sleep,” the angel murmured, brushing some golden hair back off of Adam’s face as Crowley’s arm snaked around his waist.
“Objection,” said Adam sleepily, “Stay with me.”
***
“It was what he was supposed to do, I suppose,” said Anathema into the phone. “Of course it was. But it really seemed like his idea this time.”
There was a noncommittal noise from the line, and Anathema continued. “Either way, he’s doing what is known in casual circles as a bang-up job. The rest of Europe is looking to London. And the whales campaign! You can only imagine, Grandmum.”
Agnes Nutter’s voice was slightly crackly in the earpiece. “Ie can fee itte, Annathyma, deare. Thee whole thyng loockef muche greenyre nowe. Ande doefn’t Tibette looke lovvely. Alle fulle offe holef.”
“…Tibet, Grandmum?”
“Ande it’f goode thatte thowse twoe celeftialle trowblemakyrf havve fomethynge towe dowe wyth theire tyme befidef nocke bootf. Oh mye! Adultyry, ftoppe thatte. Yowe olde skowndrel. Ooh!”
“Good night, grandmum.”
Click.
Enjoy,
vulgarweed, from your Secret Author!
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Date: 2007-12-17 07:22 pm (UTC)