![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
musegaarid.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
go_exchangeTitle: Easy
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
emerald_embers
Rating: PG for bad language and yaoi references
Gift for:hiza_chan
Pairings: Aziraphale/Crowley, slightly implied Adam + Aziraphale/Crowley
Note: Gratuitously silly wingfic. Sorry for the lack of smut my lovely prompter!
Once upon a time there was an angel and a demon. Hopefully there still is an angel and a demon otherwise the apocalypse may be along a little sooner than expected.
Now, one might think a story about an angel and a demon to also be about a bad guy and a good guy, but such an assumption would be quite incorrect. As the very human, very morally grey antichrist might tell you, there isn't really such a thing as good guys and bad guys. Rather, there is a great big fluffy cloud called understanding, and a variety of reactions from those who hover around it.
Our story begins in a quaint little bookstore in merry old England, where our aforementioned angel was rearranging the books in such a way that any customer would have as much chance of finding a book they wanted as they did of finding the lost city of Atlantis; perhaps less, given recent events. Said angel dislodged one of the books and, after some enthusiastic sneezing, realised he was itching in a place he had never itched before.
Namely, his wings.
Now, given the angel had not manifested his wings for any event that counted (the almost apocalypse being one of these) for many a century, this development struck him as rather odd.
And itchy.
Given the distraction of itching in a place he could not recall having ever felt an itch in before, it was quite unsurprising that Aziraphale should fail to notice the lack of presence outside his shop window that was accompanied by a shock of blond curls and a grinning face. Nor was it surprising that he should fail to notice the lack of presence and shock of blond curls disappearing off in search of somewhere a little more fashionable.
***
Shortly after, somewhere a little more fashionable, the demon called Crowley was attending to his plants - or, to be perfectly honest, making certain that they attended to him - when he too became aware of an unfamiliar itch. To add insult to injury, the itch seemed to be in a place he couldn't react even after manifesting his wings, which ought to be outright impossible given he could dislocate most of his joints at will, a handy side-effect of his serpent form carrying on into his human form. Still, an itch in an inconvenient place had a few possible solutions.
After bathing his wings in calamine lotion, rubbing against nearly every piece of furniture in the flat, form-switching and trying to ignore the itch by going to sleep, Crowley bit the bullet and hid his wings once more before hopping into the Bentley and heading off to the closest person in England who wouldn't run away away screaming on seeing a man with wings.
***
Crowley raised an eyebrow at the sight of the angel rubbing back against one of the tattered book cases like a bear with a bad case of mange and a convenient tree. "You too, huh?"
"Oh thank -"
"Don't say it," Crowley cut across before whipping off his jacket and manifesting his wings, pointing vaguely at the area that was driving him mad. "You scratch my wings and I'll scratch yours."
"Oh! Er, alright, but my itch is more or less in the same place -"
"Don't make this awkward, angel," Crowley huffed before arching into Aziraphale's surprisingly inexpert scratching. "When did you last do any grooming? Thought you'd be better."
"None of your business," Aziraphale almost snapped1, "Is the itch gone?"
Crowley flexed slowly, testing, and completely unwilling to either admit that rubbish or otherwise any wing-rub was welcome, or to move away from the angel's pudgy fingers. "No, uh - try a bit lower?"
Both hands abruptly withdrew. "You perverse creature!"
Aziraphale was technically correct, though the implication that Crowley was being perverse at that moment in time other than in a generic, passive, demonic sense was quite wrong. True, the base of an angel or demon's wings tended to be spectacularly sensitive but it only counted for something if one was making an effort at the time and, while that might be entertaining in general, now wasn't entirely the right moment for that sort of thing.
"May I have a turn now, dear?" Aziraphale asked, folding his hands neatly in his lap as he sat down and looking to all intents and purposes no more unusual than any middle-aged man waiting for something - except, of course, for the wings2, and certainly not like an angel whose tone had almost reached smiting proportions of shocked annoyance on his last line.
"If you're going to be pissy about it," Crowley grumbled in turn, flexing his wings a last time before dematerialising them, satisfied that the itch was gone, and standing so he could go to do the angel's wings.
Admittedly, it was very tempting from an instinctive point of view to manifest claws and do more than scratch the wings, and Crowley felt more than a little grossed out by the sheer state Aziraphale's wings were in - looked like they hadn't been groomed in centuries - but he kept on doing his duty. His wings no longer itched, and the loose terms of the Arrangement politely requested he de-itch Aziraphale before he owed the angel a favour.
Neither angel or demon could entirely have expected to have their mutual-if-grumpy grooming session be interrupted by a ticked-off antichrist clutching a slightly battered copy of The Amber Spyglass. "Why are you two so lame?"
"... Excuse me?" Aziraphale replied, before smacking Crowley lightly on the hand as a reminder for the demon to keep going.
"You two are lame. I want to know what gay angels would really look like, you virtually live together, I try to set you up and you're not even snogging!"
Crowley glared. "I had that bastard itch because you were playing cupid?"
"Yeah, and?"
While Crowley and Adam bickered, Aziraphale was busy going bright pink and trying to do something about his useless flustering inspired by the whole situation. One point of certainty was his relief at not having any inappropriate equipment in his trousers at the time else Adam might have been commenting on that too.
"Aziraphale, will you tell this pervert of a kid to get out of your bloody shop?" Crowley snapped at last, shoving the reluctant antichrist towards the door and complaining every step of the way. "Sodding wannabe peeping tom -"
"You wish! I'd be doing you a favour!"
Before the whole mess could descend into a mass that gave him a headache, Aziraphale pinched the end of his nose and politely coughed for attention. "Crowley, leave Adam alone."
"B-" Crowley was not generally one for being cut off, but quietened anyway when the angel shot him a quick glance.
"Adam, I would appreciate it dearly if you left Crowley alone too."
Adam threw off Crowley's arms and stormed out of the shop, pausing for a moment outside before storming back in, throwing his book in the bin, and storming off some more.
***
Peace having been wrestled into existence at last, Crowley blinked before shrugging, adjusting his sunglasses, and summoning the tea-making components of Aziraphale's kitchen to the main counter, figuring he could will a plug socket into existence if necessary. "Can't say I blame him for being ticked off, you know."
"Why is that, dear?" Aziraphale asked, setting about plugging in the kettle and sorting out teacups for himself and the demon.
"Well. We don't exactly make it obvious we're boffing like bunnies."
The End
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
1 - For, of course, no angel ever snapped. Except Lucifer, and you know how well that turned out.
2 - It may be worth noting that waiting in a mild daze is such a natural pastime in England that wings might not seem so unusual purely because no one would notice.
Enjoy,hiza_chan, from your Secret Author!
Author:
emerald_embersRating: PG for bad language and yaoi references
Gift for:
hiza_chanPairings: Aziraphale/Crowley, slightly implied Adam + Aziraphale/Crowley
Note: Gratuitously silly wingfic. Sorry for the lack of smut my lovely prompter!
Once upon a time there was an angel and a demon. Hopefully there still is an angel and a demon otherwise the apocalypse may be along a little sooner than expected.
Now, one might think a story about an angel and a demon to also be about a bad guy and a good guy, but such an assumption would be quite incorrect. As the very human, very morally grey antichrist might tell you, there isn't really such a thing as good guys and bad guys. Rather, there is a great big fluffy cloud called understanding, and a variety of reactions from those who hover around it.
Our story begins in a quaint little bookstore in merry old England, where our aforementioned angel was rearranging the books in such a way that any customer would have as much chance of finding a book they wanted as they did of finding the lost city of Atlantis; perhaps less, given recent events. Said angel dislodged one of the books and, after some enthusiastic sneezing, realised he was itching in a place he had never itched before.
Namely, his wings.
Now, given the angel had not manifested his wings for any event that counted (the almost apocalypse being one of these) for many a century, this development struck him as rather odd.
And itchy.
Given the distraction of itching in a place he could not recall having ever felt an itch in before, it was quite unsurprising that Aziraphale should fail to notice the lack of presence outside his shop window that was accompanied by a shock of blond curls and a grinning face. Nor was it surprising that he should fail to notice the lack of presence and shock of blond curls disappearing off in search of somewhere a little more fashionable.
***
Shortly after, somewhere a little more fashionable, the demon called Crowley was attending to his plants - or, to be perfectly honest, making certain that they attended to him - when he too became aware of an unfamiliar itch. To add insult to injury, the itch seemed to be in a place he couldn't react even after manifesting his wings, which ought to be outright impossible given he could dislocate most of his joints at will, a handy side-effect of his serpent form carrying on into his human form. Still, an itch in an inconvenient place had a few possible solutions.
After bathing his wings in calamine lotion, rubbing against nearly every piece of furniture in the flat, form-switching and trying to ignore the itch by going to sleep, Crowley bit the bullet and hid his wings once more before hopping into the Bentley and heading off to the closest person in England who wouldn't run away away screaming on seeing a man with wings.
***
Crowley raised an eyebrow at the sight of the angel rubbing back against one of the tattered book cases like a bear with a bad case of mange and a convenient tree. "You too, huh?"
"Oh thank -"
"Don't say it," Crowley cut across before whipping off his jacket and manifesting his wings, pointing vaguely at the area that was driving him mad. "You scratch my wings and I'll scratch yours."
"Oh! Er, alright, but my itch is more or less in the same place -"
"Don't make this awkward, angel," Crowley huffed before arching into Aziraphale's surprisingly inexpert scratching. "When did you last do any grooming? Thought you'd be better."
"None of your business," Aziraphale almost snapped1, "Is the itch gone?"
Crowley flexed slowly, testing, and completely unwilling to either admit that rubbish or otherwise any wing-rub was welcome, or to move away from the angel's pudgy fingers. "No, uh - try a bit lower?"
Both hands abruptly withdrew. "You perverse creature!"
Aziraphale was technically correct, though the implication that Crowley was being perverse at that moment in time other than in a generic, passive, demonic sense was quite wrong. True, the base of an angel or demon's wings tended to be spectacularly sensitive but it only counted for something if one was making an effort at the time and, while that might be entertaining in general, now wasn't entirely the right moment for that sort of thing.
"May I have a turn now, dear?" Aziraphale asked, folding his hands neatly in his lap as he sat down and looking to all intents and purposes no more unusual than any middle-aged man waiting for something - except, of course, for the wings2, and certainly not like an angel whose tone had almost reached smiting proportions of shocked annoyance on his last line.
"If you're going to be pissy about it," Crowley grumbled in turn, flexing his wings a last time before dematerialising them, satisfied that the itch was gone, and standing so he could go to do the angel's wings.
Admittedly, it was very tempting from an instinctive point of view to manifest claws and do more than scratch the wings, and Crowley felt more than a little grossed out by the sheer state Aziraphale's wings were in - looked like they hadn't been groomed in centuries - but he kept on doing his duty. His wings no longer itched, and the loose terms of the Arrangement politely requested he de-itch Aziraphale before he owed the angel a favour.
Neither angel or demon could entirely have expected to have their mutual-if-grumpy grooming session be interrupted by a ticked-off antichrist clutching a slightly battered copy of The Amber Spyglass. "Why are you two so lame?"
"... Excuse me?" Aziraphale replied, before smacking Crowley lightly on the hand as a reminder for the demon to keep going.
"You two are lame. I want to know what gay angels would really look like, you virtually live together, I try to set you up and you're not even snogging!"
Crowley glared. "I had that bastard itch because you were playing cupid?"
"Yeah, and?"
While Crowley and Adam bickered, Aziraphale was busy going bright pink and trying to do something about his useless flustering inspired by the whole situation. One point of certainty was his relief at not having any inappropriate equipment in his trousers at the time else Adam might have been commenting on that too.
"Aziraphale, will you tell this pervert of a kid to get out of your bloody shop?" Crowley snapped at last, shoving the reluctant antichrist towards the door and complaining every step of the way. "Sodding wannabe peeping tom -"
"You wish! I'd be doing you a favour!"
Before the whole mess could descend into a mass that gave him a headache, Aziraphale pinched the end of his nose and politely coughed for attention. "Crowley, leave Adam alone."
"B-" Crowley was not generally one for being cut off, but quietened anyway when the angel shot him a quick glance.
"Adam, I would appreciate it dearly if you left Crowley alone too."
Adam threw off Crowley's arms and stormed out of the shop, pausing for a moment outside before storming back in, throwing his book in the bin, and storming off some more.
***
Peace having been wrestled into existence at last, Crowley blinked before shrugging, adjusting his sunglasses, and summoning the tea-making components of Aziraphale's kitchen to the main counter, figuring he could will a plug socket into existence if necessary. "Can't say I blame him for being ticked off, you know."
"Why is that, dear?" Aziraphale asked, setting about plugging in the kettle and sorting out teacups for himself and the demon.
"Well. We don't exactly make it obvious we're boffing like bunnies."
The End
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
1 - For, of course, no angel ever snapped. Except Lucifer, and you know how well that turned out.
2 - It may be worth noting that waiting in a mild daze is such a natural pastime in England that wings might not seem so unusual purely because no one would notice.
Enjoy,
hiza_chan, from your Secret Author!
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-03 01:25 am (UTC)That last paragraph made me giggle like crazy. Well done, Secret Author!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-03 01:25 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-03 02:45 am (UTC)I love you! Thank you so much, Secret Author!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-03 05:37 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-03 09:55 pm (UTC)And this:
Our story begins in a quaint little bookstore in merry old England, where our aforementioned angel was rearranging the books in such a way that any customer would have as much chance of finding a book they wanted as they did of finding the lost city of Atlantis; perhaps less, given recent events.
is a great line! XD
(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-06 04:56 am (UTC)<3 <3 <3
Easy
Date: 2008-12-18 01:17 pm (UTC)Re: Easy
Date: 2008-12-18 01:36 pm (UTC)