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lady_match!
Dec. 11th, 2008 09:54 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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go_exchangeTitle: Touch
Gift For:lady_match
By:aten_ra
Pairing: Crowley/Uriel (Kind of. If you squint ever-so-slightly, you can see it.)
Rating: PG-13
Author’s Notes:lady_match, my humblest apologies for not being able to include the 1960s setting, but after the third scrap-and-start-over when I stalled with the setting, I thought it best to just go with a more current time. It does, however, include humour and a pot-smoking, tye-dye-wearing archangel, so I hope it pleases. Merry Christmas!
“You want me to go to a what?”
Aziraphale looked rather nonplussed. He’d thought it was a good idea. “Er, it’s a mind-body-spirit fair. I thought you might enjoy it, seeing as how you’re always complaining about how stressful this time of year is. And you have been out of sorts lately, my dear.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley said, waving his hand dismissively. “But do you honestly expect me to attend workshops with themes like--” He consulted the page in his hand. “Connecting with your angels? Oh, and here’s one on ‘divine’ love. Apparently, I must suffer from an excess of negative energy.” Crowley started to snicker.
“You don’t have to attend all of them,” Aziraphale protested. “And I was thinking more along the lines of the hands-on bodywork, anyway. Massage, reflexology, that sort of thing….” He trailed off, feeling distinctly embarrassed, while the demon giggled over a workshop on choices in the afterlife.1
Crowley glanced up at Aziraphale and rolled his eyes. Bloody sensitive angel. “You’ve got to admit, the ideas are a little funny,” he said. “Do you think any of your lot would actually go to one of these?”
“Well, no,” he admitted. “But that’s got to be a plus for you. No running into angels taking a break from spreading peace and goodwill,” he pointed out, reminding Crowley of last year’s fiasco as well as the reason why Aziraphale was not suggesting a regular spa this time.2
“Point. Are you planning to go as well, then? We can go for sushi after.” He might not care for the love and light neo-hippy workshops, but the hot stone treatments and massage workshops were tempting. He could just ignore all of the mindless prattle that went along with it.
“I hadn’t thought about it. I mean, it is the Christmas season and I have a shop to run.” Aziraphale did take his front as a bookseller seriously, in spirit if not in actual practice. “Not to mention, it’s a bit blasphemous. I mean, for an angel to take part in such goings-on.”
Crowley snorted. “But perfectly fine for one to recommend such,” he said dryly. “Think of it this way, angel. If you’re there, nobody will be trying to buy your books.”
Aziraphale glanced away for a moment, biting his lip thoughtfully. “Well, when you put it like that…. I may pop in for a bit after all.”
“See you around six, then.”
1 The very concept was ludicrous. In Heaven, you got handed a fairly straight-forward itinerary to follow for the rest of eternity. Hell operated in much the same way, except that your schedule was much more likely to get lost. Then you’d spend hours in line for a reissue, only to end up with someone else’s and have to convince a half-wit of an imp that you most certainly were not John Smith of Glasgow and you would like to be sent to the torment intended for you, thanks ever so much. Of course, by the time everything got straightened out, you’d be figuring that maybe that John fellow didn’t have it so bad, all things considered, but by that point it was Too Late. But then, it always was.
2 It is extremely difficult to relax with a hyper-vigilant archangel wearing nothing but a miniscule towel around his waist attempting to choke the life out of you, after all. Uriel had been quite apologetic about the whole thing after he’d managed to pull Michael off of the wheezing demon.
***
Crowley was pleased with the commercialization of the Christmas season, how it pushed even the most well-meaning of mortals to the breaking point as they strove to put together the “perfect” Christmas. People who didn’t cook at all during the rest of the year bought more groceries for two days than they normally used in two months, managed to ruin at least half of them, then rushed out to the shops at the last minute to either replace what they’d burned or to buy pre-made whatnots.3 People fought tooth and nail for the last poorly-manufactured, overpriced item that so-and-so just had to receive on Christmas morning, even though so-and-so probably didn’t care and was in all likelihood still at the age where the packaging was considered more fun then the contents. Families had rows over whose parents would be visited for Christmas dinner. People were stressed and short-tempered. They lashed out at their families, their friends, and the equally stressed store clerks who’d been dealing with the likes of them for the past few weeks. The more nonessential the matter, the bigger the fights, and it all worked to take the attention from the actual point of everything.
This would be all well and good if not for one detail: Crowley still had to deal with those people every day. One would think that with everyone spoiling each other’s Christmas spirit in the name of seasonal perfection, a demon could get a bit of a vacation, but nooo. The angels put in bloody overtime every year, so the agents of Hell had to stay on their toes as well. And while watching the harried holiday shoppers did afford Crowley a brief moment of amusement, it inevitably gave way to irritation as he tried to elbow his way through the crowds. Of course, he could always do something about it, but his sense of self-preservation was too strong. You never knew when one of the militant angels might be in the area looking to do more than just thwart a wile, so the demon just clenched his teeth and pushed on. Between the crowds, traffic delays, and near-constant paranoia, it was little wonder that Crowley ended up drawn more tightly than your average mortal during the holidays.
That was what had really convinced the demon to at least take a peek around the convention centre, not the supposed lack of angelic presence. If he didn’t get some time to relax, he’d blow up at someone, most likely Aziraphale, then the angel would spend a week or two giving him that hurt puppy expression4 until he finally broke down and apologised. Indulging in a bit of pampering, even at a—what was it? Oh yes— at a mind-body-spirit fair was much more appropriate for a demon than telling an angel you were sorry for throwing a sodding fruitcake at his head. Again.5
As he entered the centre, the first thing Crowley noticed was that at least a few of the practitioners were, in fact, the real deal. He could feel a soft hum on the metaphysical level, not unlike feeling a low bass line vibrating the ground beneath one’s feet. It was a little distracting at first, but not unpleasant, and Crowley sighed a bit as he looked around.
There were a few card-readers and “psychics” and people selling things from crystals and meditation CDs to spell kits and books on how to save the environment through foodless dieting. The demon quirked a brow at the black-haired merchant, who merely gave him a thin smile in return.
Right, then.
Crowley sauntered off in the opposite direction. He didn’t really care much for the Horsepersons. Pollution had a kind of strange, artistic appeal that was fine in small doses, and Death did his job without really bothering anyone (read: Crowley), but the other two he could do without running into. Once out of sight of the slim booth, he stopped a young woman with messy dreadlocks and no makeup, inquiring about what bodywork sessions were currently ongoing.
The woman, whose name was Lydia, blinked at the dark-haired man, took in the stylish suit and sunglasses, the deliberately casual posture, and the faint lines around his eyes that the shades didn’t quite cover.
Corporate workaholic.
Lydia knew the type. Didn’t want to take the time or effort to really manage stress or take care of themselves; they just wanted a quick fix. Well, she only hoped that once he got a bit mellowed, he’d be willing to stay a while longer. It’d likely do him some good.
“There’s a reiki master doing attunements--” she stopped as Crowley’s lip curled. “I know it sounds strange, but it’s really very beneficial.”
“Not for me. I’m a bit…off-putting to sensitives.” That, and it just felt odd to allow a mortal to mess around with his energy. It was a disturbingly intimate sensation.
Lydia looked mildly surprised. Well, maybe this one wasn’t quite as close-minded as most of his ilk. She was right, of course, but not in the way she thought. “Well, there’s a…touch therapy workshop in starting in thirty minutes. It’s a nice precursor to the later massage workshop—gentle touching and stroking.”
Crowley had to grin. It sounded like a nice precursor to certain other activities as well. Now that would be relaxing. Lydia gave him directions to the room and the demon strode off. She hoped he wouldn’t be too put off when the workshop began—she hadn’t been completely honest, but well….
The phrase “cuddle party” tended to rub the more uptight ones the wrong way.
3 Which they really should have done to begin with and so vowed to do just that next Christmas, just like they’d promised themselves last year
4 Which in all honesty looked far less sad on a puppy.
5 He still thought Aziraphale deserved it, though. One does not offer an irate demon fruitcake, especially not regifted fruitcake that said demon had given one the year before because he was pissed that one had scratched his Bentley.
***
Crowley was met with a surprise when he finally found the room. Outside, leaning against the doorframe in a garish tye-dyed t-shirt and long linen pants, was none other than Uriel, the archangel of light.6 Uriel tilted his head to the side and grinned. “Hiya, Crowley. Fancy meeting you here.”
“Thought I’d try a different venue this time, all things considered.”
The archangel chuckled as he pulled a hand-rolled fag from behind one ear and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. In a moment, the sweet smell of cannabis filled the air. With all the incense being lit around the fair, nobody would really notice, anyway. “Can’t blame ya there; Mike has a tendency to overreact. Honestly, he could use this stuff more than me, but he’s too straight to give it a go.”
Crowley raised a brow. “Let me guess. Woodstock?”
Uriel shook his head. “Well, I was there. At the one in Cali, too, but I started on this a while before that. Gabe rides my ass about it sometimes, but he likes gin and tonic, so I really don’t see what he’s got to be so high and mighty about. ‘sides, mine smells better than most drinks; gin smells like turpentine, beer smells of mouldy bread, wine smells of mouldy bread soaked in grape juice, whiskey—“
Crowley held up a hand to halt the archangel’s tangent before it went too far. Uriel would eventually find his way back around, but that could sometimes take a while. “Got any extra?”
Uriel stopped midsentence and grinned, passing another to the demon, who lit it with a fingertip and took a long drag before leaning against the wall beside the archangel. Out of the big seven, Uriel was generally the least threatening, somehow managing to seem like the Host’s kid brother, even though he was just as old as the rest. He watched Crowley kill half the joint in record time before he spoke again. “That bad, huh? Guess Christmas isn’t the best of times for your lot.”
Crowley shook his head and blew a smoke ring. “It’s not the holiday itself, it’s the bloody people.” He took another drag. “I don’t really mind the peace and hope bit so much. Y’know, personally. Doesn’t inconvenience me any.”
“But all that does,” Uriel surmised, making a sweeping gesture with one hand indicating the world outside the centre. “I feel ya. It gets crazy out there. Just the other day, I saw a bunch of people fighting over a display box. The clerk tried to explain that they were out and it was just an empty box with nothing to fill it, but--.” He broke off and blinked at Crowley, who was waving a hand in front of his face. “Hm?”
“That why you’re toking up at a hippy convention?”
“Huh? Oh! Yeah, but not for me. For them.” The archangel smiled and gave a little wave to a young man dressed similarly to Uriel, minus the psychedelic dye job, as the man entered the room beside them.
“Huh. So you’re running this session? What, are you an angel of healing on top of everything else now?”
“Nah, Raph’s still the Healer. And it’s his party. I’m just playing Cuddle Caddy.”
“Playing what?”
“Cuddle Caddy. I’m kind of a cuddle party supervisor.” Uriel grinned. “You didn’t know what this workshop was, didja?”
“I was told it was a touch therapy session,” Crowley mumbled, feeling rather embarrassed despite the faint buzz from the pot. “Er, you know. Bit of a self-indulgence, feed the flesh kind of thing.”
“Mm.” Uriel thought otherwise, but he knew better than to mention it. Instead, what he said was, “Well, it’s a small enough group that Raph can watch everyone himself. If you still want to give it a try, I can partner you. I mean, usually people don’t only pair off, they kinda drift around and chat and snug up to whomever, but since you’re a bit fed up with the mortals it looks like, I can stick with ya.”
Crowley finished off the joint with a long, thoughtful pull. “And Raphael won’t be tempted to smite a demon engaging in foreplay with one of the Host right under his nose?”
Uriel flicked the remains of ash from his fingertips and laughed, the light sound echoing through the hallway where it lingered and faded, a faint whisper of words accompanying the ghost of an unwritten melody. A girl camping out farther down the hall lifted her head for a moment, then whipped out a tattered maths notebook and began to write.
The archangel turned to face him fully, dark blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “The focus is on non-sexual touch, Crowley. It’s not a cover for an orgy. See….” Uriel gently ran his fingers through Crowley’s dark hair, nails scratching his scalp lightly.
That really felt better than it ought to, Crowley reflected as he resisted the urge to tilt his head into Uriel’s hand. When that touch slid down to stroke the back of his neck, warmer than any human’s could be, his eyes slid shut and his head tipped forward.
Uriel chuckled. “So, you gonna stay?”
“That’s cheating,” the demon replied without any real feeling. Delicious warmth was spreading across his shoulders and down his back, and he couldn’t be arsed to protest.
“Yup,” Uriel agreed brightly. “You in?”
“I’m in.”
6 And music. And poetry. And prophecy. He’d also taken over Aziraphale’s post at the Eastern Gate for a while after the other angel had “lost” his sword and had participated in the world’s first famous (and fixed) wrestling match in Peniel. He was a jack-of-all trades as far as angels went, and was as scattered as the information (and misinformation) written about him. Uriel found it infinitely amusing and had continued performing varied duties and functions that defied labeling, mortal or otherwise. Crowley had rather liked him back in the old days.
***
Raphael merely raised an eyebrow as the pair entered the room. Uriel had been known to bring in odd characters from time to time, usually musicians, and though this was the first demon he’d pulled into one of the Healer’s sessions, the fact that it was Crowley didn’t really surprise him. The two of them had been mates back in the day, and besides, the serpent had been a bit of a grey area for a while, even if he was still ostensibly on Hell’s bankroll.
Crowley, who’d changed his suit into a pair of black cotton lounge pants and a t-shirt (designer label, of course), followed Uriel to the small circle, ending up between the angel of light and a plump, pleasant-looking woman in pink sweats. He cast a wary look toward the Healer, but Raphael didn’t appear to be paying Crowley any more mind than he was anyone else in the room. Crowley wasn’t sure whether to feel relived or insulted. He did have a little demonic pride, after all. Then he recalled Michael’s stranglehold and decided relief was a perfectly fine reaction to go with.
Once everyone was settled, the Healer launched into his introduction. “The goal is to create a safe space where we can offer and receive simple non-sexual affection and touch, with no obligation to reciprocate and no pressure to accept an offer. All you need to do is what you’re comfortable with. Explore your boundaries and respect the boundaries of those around you.”
That was a bit more “touchy-feely” than the demon cared to think about, so Crowley tuned Raphael’s little speech out and glanced around the group. There was the man that had passed him and Uriel earlier, the pink lady next to him, a few other nondescript mortals, and a tall, thin chap with rather indistinct features. Crowley blinked twice and looked again. Well, then.
After a small eternity of going over the rules and whatnot, Raphael announced the icebreaker exercise. “Now, we’re going to play something called ‘Little Known Fact.’ Going clockwise, each person is asked to share their name, occupation, and one little known fact about themselves.”
Finally, after finding out that Raphael loved coffee but didn’t really care for tea, Uriel was into something called cosplay, and that the tall man had a horse named Binky, Crowley was glad to hear it was time to get down to business.7
“How much attention did you pay?” Uriel asked, a knowing smile on his face.
“Er, a little,” Crowley answered, adjusting his shades. “Didn’t think you went for this sort of thing,” he commented to the tall man.
YOU’RE NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO WANTS A BREAK THIS TIME OF YEAR. AT LEAST YOU GET ANONYMITY. THEY KNOW WHO I AM, AND I GET BLAMED EVEN THOUGH I DON’T ACTUALLY KILL THEM. I JUST COLLECT. IT’S A THANKLESS JOB, REALLY.
Crowley supposed he had a point there. As Raphael sat down with Azrael, the demon rose and followed Uriel to another part of the room, wondering if the other two Horsepersons were lurking around anywhere. He hadn’t heard any fighting or noticed an unusual amount of litter anywhere, so he guessed not.
“’kay.” Uriel plopped down on a cushion. “Whaddaya want?”
Crowley stared at him. Was he kidding?
“You listened very little, apparently.” Uriel leaned back and propped himself on his elbows. “You need to communicate what you want. And no sexual favours, so don’t ask,” he added with a grin.
The demon gave Uriel his best come-hither look. “Are you sure?” he purred in a voice smooth as silk. “I’m quite flexible.” Crowley paused a moment, then added, “With requests.”
Uriel grinned and shook his head. “I bet you are. But no. Not here at least.”
There was hope yet, but…. “Those are easy to ask for,” he mumbled.
“Yup. And that’s part of the reason workshops like these are needed,” the archangel replied, lying all the way back, pillowing his head on his arms. “People need touch as much as they need anything else, but they connect it with sex too often, so they refuse or misinterpret even the most innocent contact. So I’ll start. And being asked doesn’t make you obliged to do anything, so feel free to refuse.”
“All right,” Crowley said slowly. “So what do you want?”
Uriel smiled. “Would you mind rubbing my stomach?”
The demon smirked. “I thought you said non-sexual.”
“And I thought I said stomach, not cock.” He laughed quietly. “You’re sexualizing. I’m not. Oh, and no hands under clothing.”
There was a pretty-boy archangel on his back and asking Crowley to touch him, and the demon wasn’t supposed to sexualize? He got the distinct impression that somewhere, someone (or Someone) was taking a bit of amusement at his expense.
“Remember, you can always say no.”
Crowley considered for a moment, then lightly rested his hand on Uriel’s abdomen. The archangel was surprisingly muscular; his oversized shirt and pants left nearly everything to the imagination, and Uriel almost always wore somewhat loose clothing.8 Crowley slowly moved his hand in a circle.
Uriel squeaked and nearly folded up on himself. “Too light,” he laughed.
Crowley suppressed a grin and rubbed a bit more firmly, feeling Uriel relax under his hand. “Better?”
“Mm-hmm. How’d you hear about this thing, anyhow?” the archangel asked, closing his eyes. “Doesn’t really seem like your cuppa tea.”
“Aziraphale brought it to my attention. His selling point was that there weren’t likely to be any angels lurking around,” he answered wryly.
“Hey, man, I don’t lurk. I put myself out there.”
“Is anyone else here?”
“Er, well, Mike is, actually. But not anywhere near this area,” he put in quickly as Crowley seemed to freeze. “Gabe’s making him attend something about stress and anger management, since Raph and I were gonna be here, too.”
Crowley snorted slightly. “Well, if anyone needs it, he does.”
“Not the most comforting thought in the world, though,” Uriel observed, sitting up.
“Not particularly, no. I, uh.” Crowley tapped one of his shoulders. “You mind?”
Uriel smiled and shook his head. “Nope.” He scooted around behind the demon and began kneading his shoulders, his hands seeming to radiate heat as he soothed the tension from Crowley’s back.
“Ngk.”
“Is that a good ngk or a bad ngk?”
“Damn good,” Crowley mumbled, leaning back. “What are you doing?”
“Trick from my original function.”
“Hm? Angel of f--uck, right there.”
Uriel laughed and concentrated his efforts at the base of Crowley’s neck. “Maybe I’ll add that one to my business card next year.”
“You have business cards?”
“Eh, on occasion. Right now I’m a professional student,” Uriel informed him brightly. “Music and studio art.”
“Didn’t think you were an artist, too,” Crowley murmured as he felt the tension from the past several days melting from the warmth of the archangel’s hands.
“I’m not really,” he chuckled. “I just like playing with the welding torch. I think I’ll move on to philosophy after a couple semesters. Or writing. Haven’t decided yet. Near-endless possibilities; I’ll get around to ‘em all eventually.”
They’d traded off several more times by the time the Healer made his way over to the pair to let them know they were almost done. Raphael hated to break them up, in a way. Uriel had gotten the demon to let him snuggle up with his head on Crowley’s shoulder while Crowley traced random designs over Uriel’s back with his nails. Crowley would never admit it aloud, but it was actually rather nice. He was warm, a bit drowsy, and was considerably more relaxed than he’d felt in days.
He reluctantly separated from the archangel when Raphael began to bring the session to a close, though neither he nor Death participated in the “puppy pile.” It was one thing to allow someone that you’d known for a few thousand years to cuddle you9, but snuggling up with a group of strangers didn’t appeal to Crowley in the slightest.10
“Where ya off to now?” Uriel asked on the way out.
Crowley looked at his watch. He hadn’t expected to end up in a three-hour snugglefest. “I’d better hunt down Aziraphale. Care to join us? Sushi, my treat.”
“Do you even pay?”
He grinned. “Not when I can avoid it.”
Uriel laughed. “I’ll take a rain check, but….” He produced a card and tucked it into the pocket of Crowley’s jacket with a wink. “Ring me later.”
7 Crowley’s own Little Known Fact was that he owned the entire series of M*A*S*H and rather enjoyed it. And even Lesser Known Fact was that his favourite character of all eleven seasons was Father Mulcahy.
8 He had, for about a month in the 80s, attempted the tight leather and spandex look of the popular hair bands, but decided it was too uncomfortable to bother with. He did, however, still wear his hair long, though his bangs were no longer teased to the point of doubling as a weapon, much to the relief of his fellow archangels. Being hugged by an affectionate and sometimes overly-enthusiastic angel was all well and good until you got poked in the eye by his new favourite music fashion trend.
9 He firmly believed that he himself did not cuddle. Uriel would beg to differ.
10 Well, maybe it did a little, but not with a Horseperson and the Healer there, too.
***
Crowley finally tracked Aziraphale down near the centre exit. “Ready?”
The angel nodded. “Well, dear boy, you look better than you did last night,” he observed. “Which did you attend?”
Crowley paused on his way out the door, a faint flush rising to his cheeks. He couldn’t admit to Aziraphale that he’d spent the afternoon cuddling—er, being cuddled by--an archangel.
“Crowley?”
The demon pushed his sunglasses up and grinned. “Connecting with your angels.”
Happy Holidays,lady_match, from your Secret Author!
Gift For:
lady_matchBy:
aten_raPairing: Crowley/Uriel (Kind of. If you squint ever-so-slightly, you can see it.)
Rating: PG-13
Author’s Notes:
lady_match, my humblest apologies for not being able to include the 1960s setting, but after the third scrap-and-start-over when I stalled with the setting, I thought it best to just go with a more current time. It does, however, include humour and a pot-smoking, tye-dye-wearing archangel, so I hope it pleases. Merry Christmas!“You want me to go to a what?”
Aziraphale looked rather nonplussed. He’d thought it was a good idea. “Er, it’s a mind-body-spirit fair. I thought you might enjoy it, seeing as how you’re always complaining about how stressful this time of year is. And you have been out of sorts lately, my dear.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley said, waving his hand dismissively. “But do you honestly expect me to attend workshops with themes like--” He consulted the page in his hand. “Connecting with your angels? Oh, and here’s one on ‘divine’ love. Apparently, I must suffer from an excess of negative energy.” Crowley started to snicker.
“You don’t have to attend all of them,” Aziraphale protested. “And I was thinking more along the lines of the hands-on bodywork, anyway. Massage, reflexology, that sort of thing….” He trailed off, feeling distinctly embarrassed, while the demon giggled over a workshop on choices in the afterlife.1
Crowley glanced up at Aziraphale and rolled his eyes. Bloody sensitive angel. “You’ve got to admit, the ideas are a little funny,” he said. “Do you think any of your lot would actually go to one of these?”
“Well, no,” he admitted. “But that’s got to be a plus for you. No running into angels taking a break from spreading peace and goodwill,” he pointed out, reminding Crowley of last year’s fiasco as well as the reason why Aziraphale was not suggesting a regular spa this time.2
“Point. Are you planning to go as well, then? We can go for sushi after.” He might not care for the love and light neo-hippy workshops, but the hot stone treatments and massage workshops were tempting. He could just ignore all of the mindless prattle that went along with it.
“I hadn’t thought about it. I mean, it is the Christmas season and I have a shop to run.” Aziraphale did take his front as a bookseller seriously, in spirit if not in actual practice. “Not to mention, it’s a bit blasphemous. I mean, for an angel to take part in such goings-on.”
Crowley snorted. “But perfectly fine for one to recommend such,” he said dryly. “Think of it this way, angel. If you’re there, nobody will be trying to buy your books.”
Aziraphale glanced away for a moment, biting his lip thoughtfully. “Well, when you put it like that…. I may pop in for a bit after all.”
“See you around six, then.”
1 The very concept was ludicrous. In Heaven, you got handed a fairly straight-forward itinerary to follow for the rest of eternity. Hell operated in much the same way, except that your schedule was much more likely to get lost. Then you’d spend hours in line for a reissue, only to end up with someone else’s and have to convince a half-wit of an imp that you most certainly were not John Smith of Glasgow and you would like to be sent to the torment intended for you, thanks ever so much. Of course, by the time everything got straightened out, you’d be figuring that maybe that John fellow didn’t have it so bad, all things considered, but by that point it was Too Late. But then, it always was.
2 It is extremely difficult to relax with a hyper-vigilant archangel wearing nothing but a miniscule towel around his waist attempting to choke the life out of you, after all. Uriel had been quite apologetic about the whole thing after he’d managed to pull Michael off of the wheezing demon.
***
Crowley was pleased with the commercialization of the Christmas season, how it pushed even the most well-meaning of mortals to the breaking point as they strove to put together the “perfect” Christmas. People who didn’t cook at all during the rest of the year bought more groceries for two days than they normally used in two months, managed to ruin at least half of them, then rushed out to the shops at the last minute to either replace what they’d burned or to buy pre-made whatnots.3 People fought tooth and nail for the last poorly-manufactured, overpriced item that so-and-so just had to receive on Christmas morning, even though so-and-so probably didn’t care and was in all likelihood still at the age where the packaging was considered more fun then the contents. Families had rows over whose parents would be visited for Christmas dinner. People were stressed and short-tempered. They lashed out at their families, their friends, and the equally stressed store clerks who’d been dealing with the likes of them for the past few weeks. The more nonessential the matter, the bigger the fights, and it all worked to take the attention from the actual point of everything.
This would be all well and good if not for one detail: Crowley still had to deal with those people every day. One would think that with everyone spoiling each other’s Christmas spirit in the name of seasonal perfection, a demon could get a bit of a vacation, but nooo. The angels put in bloody overtime every year, so the agents of Hell had to stay on their toes as well. And while watching the harried holiday shoppers did afford Crowley a brief moment of amusement, it inevitably gave way to irritation as he tried to elbow his way through the crowds. Of course, he could always do something about it, but his sense of self-preservation was too strong. You never knew when one of the militant angels might be in the area looking to do more than just thwart a wile, so the demon just clenched his teeth and pushed on. Between the crowds, traffic delays, and near-constant paranoia, it was little wonder that Crowley ended up drawn more tightly than your average mortal during the holidays.
That was what had really convinced the demon to at least take a peek around the convention centre, not the supposed lack of angelic presence. If he didn’t get some time to relax, he’d blow up at someone, most likely Aziraphale, then the angel would spend a week or two giving him that hurt puppy expression4 until he finally broke down and apologised. Indulging in a bit of pampering, even at a—what was it? Oh yes— at a mind-body-spirit fair was much more appropriate for a demon than telling an angel you were sorry for throwing a sodding fruitcake at his head. Again.5
As he entered the centre, the first thing Crowley noticed was that at least a few of the practitioners were, in fact, the real deal. He could feel a soft hum on the metaphysical level, not unlike feeling a low bass line vibrating the ground beneath one’s feet. It was a little distracting at first, but not unpleasant, and Crowley sighed a bit as he looked around.
There were a few card-readers and “psychics” and people selling things from crystals and meditation CDs to spell kits and books on how to save the environment through foodless dieting. The demon quirked a brow at the black-haired merchant, who merely gave him a thin smile in return.
Right, then.
Crowley sauntered off in the opposite direction. He didn’t really care much for the Horsepersons. Pollution had a kind of strange, artistic appeal that was fine in small doses, and Death did his job without really bothering anyone (read: Crowley), but the other two he could do without running into. Once out of sight of the slim booth, he stopped a young woman with messy dreadlocks and no makeup, inquiring about what bodywork sessions were currently ongoing.
The woman, whose name was Lydia, blinked at the dark-haired man, took in the stylish suit and sunglasses, the deliberately casual posture, and the faint lines around his eyes that the shades didn’t quite cover.
Corporate workaholic.
Lydia knew the type. Didn’t want to take the time or effort to really manage stress or take care of themselves; they just wanted a quick fix. Well, she only hoped that once he got a bit mellowed, he’d be willing to stay a while longer. It’d likely do him some good.
“There’s a reiki master doing attunements--” she stopped as Crowley’s lip curled. “I know it sounds strange, but it’s really very beneficial.”
“Not for me. I’m a bit…off-putting to sensitives.” That, and it just felt odd to allow a mortal to mess around with his energy. It was a disturbingly intimate sensation.
Lydia looked mildly surprised. Well, maybe this one wasn’t quite as close-minded as most of his ilk. She was right, of course, but not in the way she thought. “Well, there’s a…touch therapy workshop in starting in thirty minutes. It’s a nice precursor to the later massage workshop—gentle touching and stroking.”
Crowley had to grin. It sounded like a nice precursor to certain other activities as well. Now that would be relaxing. Lydia gave him directions to the room and the demon strode off. She hoped he wouldn’t be too put off when the workshop began—she hadn’t been completely honest, but well….
The phrase “cuddle party” tended to rub the more uptight ones the wrong way.
3 Which they really should have done to begin with and so vowed to do just that next Christmas, just like they’d promised themselves last year
4 Which in all honesty looked far less sad on a puppy.
5 He still thought Aziraphale deserved it, though. One does not offer an irate demon fruitcake, especially not regifted fruitcake that said demon had given one the year before because he was pissed that one had scratched his Bentley.
***
Crowley was met with a surprise when he finally found the room. Outside, leaning against the doorframe in a garish tye-dyed t-shirt and long linen pants, was none other than Uriel, the archangel of light.6 Uriel tilted his head to the side and grinned. “Hiya, Crowley. Fancy meeting you here.”
“Thought I’d try a different venue this time, all things considered.”
The archangel chuckled as he pulled a hand-rolled fag from behind one ear and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. In a moment, the sweet smell of cannabis filled the air. With all the incense being lit around the fair, nobody would really notice, anyway. “Can’t blame ya there; Mike has a tendency to overreact. Honestly, he could use this stuff more than me, but he’s too straight to give it a go.”
Crowley raised a brow. “Let me guess. Woodstock?”
Uriel shook his head. “Well, I was there. At the one in Cali, too, but I started on this a while before that. Gabe rides my ass about it sometimes, but he likes gin and tonic, so I really don’t see what he’s got to be so high and mighty about. ‘sides, mine smells better than most drinks; gin smells like turpentine, beer smells of mouldy bread, wine smells of mouldy bread soaked in grape juice, whiskey—“
Crowley held up a hand to halt the archangel’s tangent before it went too far. Uriel would eventually find his way back around, but that could sometimes take a while. “Got any extra?”
Uriel stopped midsentence and grinned, passing another to the demon, who lit it with a fingertip and took a long drag before leaning against the wall beside the archangel. Out of the big seven, Uriel was generally the least threatening, somehow managing to seem like the Host’s kid brother, even though he was just as old as the rest. He watched Crowley kill half the joint in record time before he spoke again. “That bad, huh? Guess Christmas isn’t the best of times for your lot.”
Crowley shook his head and blew a smoke ring. “It’s not the holiday itself, it’s the bloody people.” He took another drag. “I don’t really mind the peace and hope bit so much. Y’know, personally. Doesn’t inconvenience me any.”
“But all that does,” Uriel surmised, making a sweeping gesture with one hand indicating the world outside the centre. “I feel ya. It gets crazy out there. Just the other day, I saw a bunch of people fighting over a display box. The clerk tried to explain that they were out and it was just an empty box with nothing to fill it, but--.” He broke off and blinked at Crowley, who was waving a hand in front of his face. “Hm?”
“That why you’re toking up at a hippy convention?”
“Huh? Oh! Yeah, but not for me. For them.” The archangel smiled and gave a little wave to a young man dressed similarly to Uriel, minus the psychedelic dye job, as the man entered the room beside them.
“Huh. So you’re running this session? What, are you an angel of healing on top of everything else now?”
“Nah, Raph’s still the Healer. And it’s his party. I’m just playing Cuddle Caddy.”
“Playing what?”
“Cuddle Caddy. I’m kind of a cuddle party supervisor.” Uriel grinned. “You didn’t know what this workshop was, didja?”
“I was told it was a touch therapy session,” Crowley mumbled, feeling rather embarrassed despite the faint buzz from the pot. “Er, you know. Bit of a self-indulgence, feed the flesh kind of thing.”
“Mm.” Uriel thought otherwise, but he knew better than to mention it. Instead, what he said was, “Well, it’s a small enough group that Raph can watch everyone himself. If you still want to give it a try, I can partner you. I mean, usually people don’t only pair off, they kinda drift around and chat and snug up to whomever, but since you’re a bit fed up with the mortals it looks like, I can stick with ya.”
Crowley finished off the joint with a long, thoughtful pull. “And Raphael won’t be tempted to smite a demon engaging in foreplay with one of the Host right under his nose?”
Uriel flicked the remains of ash from his fingertips and laughed, the light sound echoing through the hallway where it lingered and faded, a faint whisper of words accompanying the ghost of an unwritten melody. A girl camping out farther down the hall lifted her head for a moment, then whipped out a tattered maths notebook and began to write.
The archangel turned to face him fully, dark blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “The focus is on non-sexual touch, Crowley. It’s not a cover for an orgy. See….” Uriel gently ran his fingers through Crowley’s dark hair, nails scratching his scalp lightly.
That really felt better than it ought to, Crowley reflected as he resisted the urge to tilt his head into Uriel’s hand. When that touch slid down to stroke the back of his neck, warmer than any human’s could be, his eyes slid shut and his head tipped forward.
Uriel chuckled. “So, you gonna stay?”
“That’s cheating,” the demon replied without any real feeling. Delicious warmth was spreading across his shoulders and down his back, and he couldn’t be arsed to protest.
“Yup,” Uriel agreed brightly. “You in?”
“I’m in.”
6 And music. And poetry. And prophecy. He’d also taken over Aziraphale’s post at the Eastern Gate for a while after the other angel had “lost” his sword and had participated in the world’s first famous (and fixed) wrestling match in Peniel. He was a jack-of-all trades as far as angels went, and was as scattered as the information (and misinformation) written about him. Uriel found it infinitely amusing and had continued performing varied duties and functions that defied labeling, mortal or otherwise. Crowley had rather liked him back in the old days.
***
Raphael merely raised an eyebrow as the pair entered the room. Uriel had been known to bring in odd characters from time to time, usually musicians, and though this was the first demon he’d pulled into one of the Healer’s sessions, the fact that it was Crowley didn’t really surprise him. The two of them had been mates back in the day, and besides, the serpent had been a bit of a grey area for a while, even if he was still ostensibly on Hell’s bankroll.
Crowley, who’d changed his suit into a pair of black cotton lounge pants and a t-shirt (designer label, of course), followed Uriel to the small circle, ending up between the angel of light and a plump, pleasant-looking woman in pink sweats. He cast a wary look toward the Healer, but Raphael didn’t appear to be paying Crowley any more mind than he was anyone else in the room. Crowley wasn’t sure whether to feel relived or insulted. He did have a little demonic pride, after all. Then he recalled Michael’s stranglehold and decided relief was a perfectly fine reaction to go with.
Once everyone was settled, the Healer launched into his introduction. “The goal is to create a safe space where we can offer and receive simple non-sexual affection and touch, with no obligation to reciprocate and no pressure to accept an offer. All you need to do is what you’re comfortable with. Explore your boundaries and respect the boundaries of those around you.”
That was a bit more “touchy-feely” than the demon cared to think about, so Crowley tuned Raphael’s little speech out and glanced around the group. There was the man that had passed him and Uriel earlier, the pink lady next to him, a few other nondescript mortals, and a tall, thin chap with rather indistinct features. Crowley blinked twice and looked again. Well, then.
After a small eternity of going over the rules and whatnot, Raphael announced the icebreaker exercise. “Now, we’re going to play something called ‘Little Known Fact.’ Going clockwise, each person is asked to share their name, occupation, and one little known fact about themselves.”
Finally, after finding out that Raphael loved coffee but didn’t really care for tea, Uriel was into something called cosplay, and that the tall man had a horse named Binky, Crowley was glad to hear it was time to get down to business.7
“How much attention did you pay?” Uriel asked, a knowing smile on his face.
“Er, a little,” Crowley answered, adjusting his shades. “Didn’t think you went for this sort of thing,” he commented to the tall man.
YOU’RE NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO WANTS A BREAK THIS TIME OF YEAR. AT LEAST YOU GET ANONYMITY. THEY KNOW WHO I AM, AND I GET BLAMED EVEN THOUGH I DON’T ACTUALLY KILL THEM. I JUST COLLECT. IT’S A THANKLESS JOB, REALLY.
Crowley supposed he had a point there. As Raphael sat down with Azrael, the demon rose and followed Uriel to another part of the room, wondering if the other two Horsepersons were lurking around anywhere. He hadn’t heard any fighting or noticed an unusual amount of litter anywhere, so he guessed not.
“’kay.” Uriel plopped down on a cushion. “Whaddaya want?”
Crowley stared at him. Was he kidding?
“You listened very little, apparently.” Uriel leaned back and propped himself on his elbows. “You need to communicate what you want. And no sexual favours, so don’t ask,” he added with a grin.
The demon gave Uriel his best come-hither look. “Are you sure?” he purred in a voice smooth as silk. “I’m quite flexible.” Crowley paused a moment, then added, “With requests.”
Uriel grinned and shook his head. “I bet you are. But no. Not here at least.”
There was hope yet, but…. “Those are easy to ask for,” he mumbled.
“Yup. And that’s part of the reason workshops like these are needed,” the archangel replied, lying all the way back, pillowing his head on his arms. “People need touch as much as they need anything else, but they connect it with sex too often, so they refuse or misinterpret even the most innocent contact. So I’ll start. And being asked doesn’t make you obliged to do anything, so feel free to refuse.”
“All right,” Crowley said slowly. “So what do you want?”
Uriel smiled. “Would you mind rubbing my stomach?”
The demon smirked. “I thought you said non-sexual.”
“And I thought I said stomach, not cock.” He laughed quietly. “You’re sexualizing. I’m not. Oh, and no hands under clothing.”
There was a pretty-boy archangel on his back and asking Crowley to touch him, and the demon wasn’t supposed to sexualize? He got the distinct impression that somewhere, someone (or Someone) was taking a bit of amusement at his expense.
“Remember, you can always say no.”
Crowley considered for a moment, then lightly rested his hand on Uriel’s abdomen. The archangel was surprisingly muscular; his oversized shirt and pants left nearly everything to the imagination, and Uriel almost always wore somewhat loose clothing.8 Crowley slowly moved his hand in a circle.
Uriel squeaked and nearly folded up on himself. “Too light,” he laughed.
Crowley suppressed a grin and rubbed a bit more firmly, feeling Uriel relax under his hand. “Better?”
“Mm-hmm. How’d you hear about this thing, anyhow?” the archangel asked, closing his eyes. “Doesn’t really seem like your cuppa tea.”
“Aziraphale brought it to my attention. His selling point was that there weren’t likely to be any angels lurking around,” he answered wryly.
“Hey, man, I don’t lurk. I put myself out there.”
“Is anyone else here?”
“Er, well, Mike is, actually. But not anywhere near this area,” he put in quickly as Crowley seemed to freeze. “Gabe’s making him attend something about stress and anger management, since Raph and I were gonna be here, too.”
Crowley snorted slightly. “Well, if anyone needs it, he does.”
“Not the most comforting thought in the world, though,” Uriel observed, sitting up.
“Not particularly, no. I, uh.” Crowley tapped one of his shoulders. “You mind?”
Uriel smiled and shook his head. “Nope.” He scooted around behind the demon and began kneading his shoulders, his hands seeming to radiate heat as he soothed the tension from Crowley’s back.
“Ngk.”
“Is that a good ngk or a bad ngk?”
“Damn good,” Crowley mumbled, leaning back. “What are you doing?”
“Trick from my original function.”
“Hm? Angel of f--uck, right there.”
Uriel laughed and concentrated his efforts at the base of Crowley’s neck. “Maybe I’ll add that one to my business card next year.”
“You have business cards?”
“Eh, on occasion. Right now I’m a professional student,” Uriel informed him brightly. “Music and studio art.”
“Didn’t think you were an artist, too,” Crowley murmured as he felt the tension from the past several days melting from the warmth of the archangel’s hands.
“I’m not really,” he chuckled. “I just like playing with the welding torch. I think I’ll move on to philosophy after a couple semesters. Or writing. Haven’t decided yet. Near-endless possibilities; I’ll get around to ‘em all eventually.”
They’d traded off several more times by the time the Healer made his way over to the pair to let them know they were almost done. Raphael hated to break them up, in a way. Uriel had gotten the demon to let him snuggle up with his head on Crowley’s shoulder while Crowley traced random designs over Uriel’s back with his nails. Crowley would never admit it aloud, but it was actually rather nice. He was warm, a bit drowsy, and was considerably more relaxed than he’d felt in days.
He reluctantly separated from the archangel when Raphael began to bring the session to a close, though neither he nor Death participated in the “puppy pile.” It was one thing to allow someone that you’d known for a few thousand years to cuddle you9, but snuggling up with a group of strangers didn’t appeal to Crowley in the slightest.10
“Where ya off to now?” Uriel asked on the way out.
Crowley looked at his watch. He hadn’t expected to end up in a three-hour snugglefest. “I’d better hunt down Aziraphale. Care to join us? Sushi, my treat.”
“Do you even pay?”
He grinned. “Not when I can avoid it.”
Uriel laughed. “I’ll take a rain check, but….” He produced a card and tucked it into the pocket of Crowley’s jacket with a wink. “Ring me later.”
7 Crowley’s own Little Known Fact was that he owned the entire series of M*A*S*H and rather enjoyed it. And even Lesser Known Fact was that his favourite character of all eleven seasons was Father Mulcahy.
8 He had, for about a month in the 80s, attempted the tight leather and spandex look of the popular hair bands, but decided it was too uncomfortable to bother with. He did, however, still wear his hair long, though his bangs were no longer teased to the point of doubling as a weapon, much to the relief of his fellow archangels. Being hugged by an affectionate and sometimes overly-enthusiastic angel was all well and good until you got poked in the eye by his new favourite music fashion trend.
9 He firmly believed that he himself did not cuddle. Uriel would beg to differ.
10 Well, maybe it did a little, but not with a Horseperson and the Healer there, too.
***
Crowley finally tracked Aziraphale down near the centre exit. “Ready?”
The angel nodded. “Well, dear boy, you look better than you did last night,” he observed. “Which did you attend?”
Crowley paused on his way out the door, a faint flush rising to his cheeks. He couldn’t admit to Aziraphale that he’d spent the afternoon cuddling—er, being cuddled by--an archangel.
“Crowley?”
The demon pushed his sunglasses up and grinned. “Connecting with your angels.”
Happy Holidays,
lady_match, from your Secret Author!Tags:
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