#their recollection of said language is so poor that they might as well argue why baby pigeons are none existent | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

amuseoffyre · 5 years

Text

October Prompts - 17th

Prompt - “The devil can cite scripture for his purpose”- William Shakespeare

Note: This one gets a bit naughtier later on :) It’s also set somewhere before the chapter where Crowley tries out his angel-mojo on Aziraphale.

Huddles of people clustered under umbrellas, pushing against the bleak, blustery winds like particularly stubborn mushrooms. Rain was battering down on all sides and the sky was so black it seemed more like night than the middle of the afternoon.

Traffic was moving slowly, almost grinding to a standstill, but inexplicably a dove-grey Bentley was slipping through the growling engines and growling drivers like a minnow through pond weed, somehow finding space to move where no one else did.

It swung across Shaftesbury avenue and up into the narrower streets of Soho, purring along to come to a halt outside a shop with a particular kind of reputation. The single occupant scrambled out, pulling up the hood of his parka – surprising attire for a man driving a Bentley – and hurrying towards the door of the shop.

The shop in question was infamous in the area, with erratic opening times, questionable content in the windows, and rumours of frisky customers frequently being entertained among the shelves by the owner of the shop himself.

The parka-clad man rattled on the door, before pushing his way in as if he owned the place.

Inside, Aziraphale wandered out from the back of the shop, stopping dead in astonishment at the sight of Crowley standing – again – in his shop. Yes, he had come in before, but this– that had been a rather exceptional occasion when he didn’t have anywhere else to go.

“What are you doing here?”

Crowley snorted as he pushed down his hood and ruffled his hair into more kittenish disarray. “Some welcome, I call that.” He held out a box, which was marked with Chinese writing and leaking savoury steam. “I was in the area. Thought I’d bring lunch.”

Aziraphale opened and shut his mouth several times, trying to quantify the overwhelming tide of emotions and balance them with a rather more restrained expression of said emotions. “Oh,” he managed in an embarrassingly breathy voice. “My dear…”

And Crowley, damn the adorable bastard, smirked at him. “You busy?”

At once, Aziraphale snapped both fingers. Customers, who had not been particularly visible – or, in some cases, dressed – emerged from the labyrinth of shelves, suddenly very aware they had other places to be and oh, would you look at the time, don’t mind me, ‘scuse me sir.

“Not,” Aziraphale said happily, “in the least.” He motioned for Crowley to come through to the snug nook he kept at the back of his shop. He had called it his Den of Iniquity so many times that one of his regulars had made a beautifully-engraved plaque for him to hang over the doorway declaring it.

By the time he had rustled up some crockery, the angel had hung up his parka and made himself comfortable on Aziraphale’s couch. It was… well… Aziraphale had to admit that he felt a peculiar flutter under his ribs at the sight of his angel choosing to come, to bring him food, to sit in his place, on his couch, for no other reason than that he wanted to.

And when Crowley looked up at him and smiled, Aziraphale had the suspicion he was beaming like an utter fool.

“Do we need cutlery?” he said, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Nah.” Crowley held up a couple of slim paper packets. “Got chopsticks.” He patted the couch. “Come on! They’re getting cold!”

There was a restaurant the angel had always enjoyed in Chinatown. As far as Aziraphale was aware, they didn’t have a takeaway option, but by some small miracle, Crowley appeared to have done just that, deftly flipping his favourite dumplings onto a plate on the coffee table. When he pointed it out, the angel went pink to his ears.

“I just asked nicely,” he said, making a face.

Coming from anyone else, that might have sounded twee, but from the angel, it was probably nothing more than the truth.

“Well, I’m very grateful,” he said, plucking up one of the steaming dumplings with freshly-snapped chopsticks. He knocked his knee fondly against Crowley’s. “What’s the occasion?”

Crowley shrugged and said around a mouthful of dumpling. “Wanted to see you.”

Aziraphale paused mid-chew, then – with considerable effort – managed to swallow. Perhaps the angel didn’t realise the effect such words had on him. Or perhaps he did. That was the trouble with falling in love with a bright, shining minx of an angel. You never knew when he was going to bowl you over with his biting wit or whip the floor out from beneath you with such utter softness.

“You,” he informed Crowley, “are going to ruin me, you wonderful rascal.”

To his delight, Crowley blushed and beamed. “Shut up,” he said, picking up a dumpling and shoving it in Aziraphale’s mouth.

The food didn’t last long, each little pocket of dough stuffed and spiced to perfection, and by the last, they were fighting furiously over who got to have it.

“You should! You bought them!”

“For you!” Crowley insisted. “Anyway, I snuck three in the car on the way over, so I’ve had more.”

“And you are far skinnier than I, so you need all the meat you can get on your bones.”

The angel rolled his eyes. “You know that’s not how we work, physiologically. If we did, you’d be the size of a blue whale.”

“Which is precisely the principle on which I am arguing,” Aziraphale said, firmly pushing the last dumpling towards him. “I have already over-indulged sufficiently. Now, it’s your turn.”

Crowley glowered down at the dumpling, then picked it up between his chopsticks and squeezed. The damned thing split into two perfectly even halves. The angel gave the demon a smug grin. “There. We both win.”

“He that hath a bountiful eye shall be blessed; for he giveth of his bread to the poor.” Aziraphale said with playful awe as he still took one of the halves.

Crowley stared at him. “Did you just… cite Proverbs at me?”

“What can I say?” the demon said with a chuckle. “I’m a well-read fellow.”

Crowley shook his head with a sigh. “Honestly, I’m amazed you’ve last as long as you have! You know what reading holy books does to you! My one made you look like you’d blasted yourself in the face with a flame-thrower, for Heaven’s sake!”

Aziraphale waved his words away. “It’s all a matter of reasonable precaution,” he said. “I have a welding visor now, so it oughtn’t be a problem anymore.”

“Anymore,” Crowley echoed. “Damn it, Aziraphale!”

The demon sniffed. “You think I’m not going to ensure I know every counter-argument in the book? I like to be prepared for the gallant spreaders of the Good Word when they come knocking, trying to save this poor, humble purveyor of filth and unashamed sodomite.” He beamed in fond recollection. “It’s such a pleasure watching their brains implode with confusion when I turn their weapons against them.”

“I know I should be shocked, and yet…” Crowley said with a wry smile. He set down his chopsticks and stretched. “You mind if I hang around until the weather eases off a bit? Traffic’s a bloody nightmare.”

Aziraphale gaped at him. “Why the Heaven would I mind?”

“Well…” Crowley shrugged. “You might want to let customers in. Do good business. You know. Professional shoppy things.”

Aziraphale set down his own chopsticks. “Darling,” he purred, leaning closer, crowding the angel against the arm of the couch, “if there’s one benefit of being a small business owner, it’s that I can do whatever the fuck I like.”

Crowley caught Aziraphale’s face squarely in his palm as the demon tried to steal a kiss, pushing him back with a laugh. “I don’t think the ‘being a small business owner’ is your real reason, is it?” He swung to his feet, turning around on the spot and peering about. “Is all of it… you know…”

“What?” Aziraphale widened his eyes comically, clutching his heart like an affronted Victorian widow and stage-whispered, “Pornography?”

The angel put out his tongue. “Yes, you dirty bugger.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Not all of it, but a substantial amount.” He shrugged. “Easiest of the sins of temptation, sins of the flesh. I don’t even have to do anything. The humans have imagination enough. A little glimpse and some of them are an inferno without any effort on my part.”

“And has the domino effect of jealousy, anger, wrath and everything else…” Crowley observed, wandering back through towards the main body of the shop. “They never realised how much worse – or better from their point of view, I s’pose – you could’ve been if you wanted.”

Wiping his hands fastidiously on his handkerchief, Aziraphale followed him. “Why would I put in any more effort than necessary for them? They are no more my friends than Heaven.”

Crowley shot him a quick smile. “Well, I’m glad you weren’t as bad as you could’ve been. I don’t think I’d’ve liked you half as much.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Aziraphale said. “I’m a very likeable fellow.”

“Eh. You have your moments.”

Aziraphale gave a mortally embarrassing squeak of indignation. “Angel!”

Crowley grinned, meandering onwards through the shelves, peering at them. Occasionally, he pulled out a book, flicking through it. Some of the illustrated ones made his ears turn a brighter shade of pink and he hastily put them back.

“D’you ever want that?” he asked, without turning.

“That?” Aziraphale inquired, settling in one of the armchairs beneath the domed roof to watch him explore.

“You know…” Crowley waved an inarticulate hand. “The… stuff. Squishy stuff. With… parts.”

“Oh! Sex? You mean sex?”

“Mm.” Crowley’s ears were redder than his hair.

What an odd question. “You know I’ve had plenty of it, my dear, or had you forgotten?”

The angel cleared his throat. “No. I mean– with me.”

It was as if a pin had pricked a hole in Aziraphale’s brain and all his words were trickling out like sand and slipping between his fingers as he desperately tried to catch them. He made a sound, though he was fairly sure it wasn’t a real word in any language he could remember.

Honey eyes met his and Crowley’s face flamed even further. “Ah.”

“I– er–” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I can’t say I haven’t wondered…” He recognised the twitch in Crowley’s cheek, one that foretold of a worried frown and hastily added, “Though it’s not a necessity. I rather like kissing you and holding you. Anything else is a human incidental.”

“Like dumplings?”

Like… well, any of Aziraphale’s indulgences really. Yes, he could do without them, but he really did rather enjoy his little pleasures. But as far as he was aware, Crowley had never been carnally intimate with anyone and had never shown any desire to either. And if Crowley was not of that persuasion, then Aziraphale was quite happy to accommodate whatever wishes he did or didn’t have. The darling creature deserved every happiness, even if it meant Aziraphale did not get to indulge in his every secret little fantasy.

A cough dragged him out of his whirling thoughts.

“Can’t say you haven’t wondered, eh?”

Aziraphale peered around. Crowley had wandered into another one of the side nooks and, from the cant of his head, was studying something. But there was nothing of especial interest in there, really, except…

Oh Lord. Except a certain statue he had discreetly tucked away in there the night the angel had come to his shop for the first time.

He hurried over. “Darling, this isn’t what it looks like…”

Crowley snorted. “Uh huh.” He pointed at the statues of the two angels. “So what is it?”

“Um.” Aziraphale fidgeted. He had bought it on a whim in the early 19th century, for no other reason than to utterly indulge a particular daydream. Especially since one of the angels had black wings. The other cream and gold. They were both rather emphatically naked. “I believe the description was Evil triumphing over Good.”

“Mm. Hm.” Crowley sounded like he was trying very hard not to laugh. “And they’re doing… what exactly?”

“Wrestling?” Aziraphale said with false optimism, risking a glance at the angel’s pink face.

Crowley met his eyes. “Wrestling? Really? Shop like this and that is wrestling?”

Aziraphale tugged at the ends of his waistcoat self-consciously. “I thought it was rather handsome!”

“Bit cliché, though,” Crowley pointed out. “Having black wings doesn’t make anyone evil.” His eyes were definitely glinting now. “Unless you were… thinking of someone else when you bought it.”

The demon pursed his lips up and hmpfed emphatically. “You know very well that I was,” he grumbled. “Stop being such a terrible tease.”

At once, he had a laughing angel in his arms and Crowley kissed him firmly. “You like it.”

Aziraphale snaked his arms around the angel’s waist. “I much prefer when you’re the one blushing and flustered,” he admitted, nuzzling the tip of Crowley’s nose. “It’s hardly any good to anyone if a demon gets embarrassed!”

“I didn’t make you embarrassed,” Crowley said, grinning. “You got embarrassed yourself.” He widened his eyes. “Am I your conscience?”

Aziraphale swatted him on the backside. “Hardly! I don’t have one of those!” He considered the angel in his arms. “And by my count, you have had me flustered several times in the past half hour. I believe it’s time to even the score, don’t you?”

“What are you going to do?” Crowley said, eyes dancing. “Show me your books? That doesn’t count. The books are doing all the work.”

Aziraphale studied him then smiled a serpent’s smile. “I’m going to give you what you deserve, angel,” he murmured, slipping his hands down to rest innocently at the base of Crowley’s back. “I am going to sing your praises.”

“Oh God…” Crowley tried too late to back out of the circle of Aziraphale’s arms. “Don’t! Don’t you bloody dare!”

“Shall I talk of bathing in the sweet honey pools of your eyes?” Aziraphale said gleefully. “Or the sunset fire of your hair?”

“Please don’t!” Crowley pushed against his chest, half-laughing. “Not all that rubbish! It sounds like Solomon’s mushy guff! Ooh, you’re a plum tree, I wanna grab your plums!”

“Oho!” Aziraphale spun him around, grinning from ear to eat. “You like ancient filth, do you? Let me tell you, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead. .”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley wailed, hiding his face in the demon’s shoulder. “Goats?! For Heaven’s sake! Stop embarrassing yourself!”

“I don’t feel embarrassed,” Aziraphale replied cheerfully. “In fact, isn’t this rather good? It’s Biblical after all! Must be good! You’re just not enjoying it right, you silly angel.”

“No!” Crowley kicked at his shins, laughing helplessly. “No, it’s not! It’s awful!”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Ah, yes, but there’s where you’re wrong because many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it: if a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly be contemned.”

“UGH!” Crowley was red as a pillar box, eye-rolling and mugging and pounding his fists against Aziraphale’s chest. “Do you even believe a word of that soppy rubbish?”

Aziraphale blinked at him in surprise. “Of course I do,” he said. “When it’s about you.”

Crowley went very, very still in his arms, then raised those sweet honey eyes to his face. It was a blush of a deeper kind now, not flustered per se, but strong and blooming and utterly delicious framing the look of awed wonder on Crowley’s face. His lips were parted and his fingers uncurled from fists to tug at Aziraphale’s waistcoat. “Really?”

In answer, Aziraphale drew him closer and kissed him. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t kissed before, but this felt different, somehow, a barrier crossed, an understanding reached, and all at once, Crowley was electricity in his arms, his fingers in Aziraphale’s hair, plastered against him, stealing the breath from his lips.

Lord, Aziraphale’s world was turning into an inferno centred on the living flame that was his angel and Crowley had to be utterly insensible if he wasn’t aware of the effect he was having on Aziraphale’s human shape.

And oh, it was utterly foolish and selfish, but Aziraphale couldn’t help canting his hips forward. Just a little pressure. Just enough. A small indulgence to see him through the nights.

And Crowley… Crowley noticed.

They broke apart, staring at each other, breathing hard.

“Forgive me, love,” Aziraphale said, drawing back and clearing his throat. “A minor inconvenience.”

The angel tilted his head, studying him, then stepped forward, crowding Aziraphale back against the bookshelves. “Can I see?”

At once, Aziraphale’s reaped words were scattered again. Crowley had the uncanny knack of winnowing them away. “I– excuse me?”

Crowley’s face was scarlet, but he nodded downwards. “Can I see?”

A dozen thoughts clamoured for priority and one rose triumphant. “Why?”

The angel gave him a small smile. “Because no one ever reacted like that for me. I’ve…” He laughed, self-consciously running his fingers through his hair. “You did that, because of me, yeah?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I didn’t do anything,” he managed, fumbling with his belt. “You did this, my love.” It was strange to feel timid, not after so many years of happy debauchery, but this was different. This was Crowley being his usual curious self. “Don’t laugh.”

Crowley peered down, biting his lip and rosy, as Aziraphale undid his trousers and released his cock, praying to Christ, it would do anything embarrassing like flag under the attention and droop all over again. Not likely, given how much the damn thing was aching for attention and Crowley’s eyes were good enough.

Though, it turned out, his hand was even better.

So much better, in fact, that Aziraphale… rather spontaneously celebrated.

“Urk!” Aziraphale croaked.

“Oh!” Crowley let go at once, shaking the mess off his hand. “That… is that it? That’s what everyone makes all the fuss about?”

Aziraphale idly considered cracking open the floor beneath himself and dropping through it. His face was burning as hot as Hell already. Maybe they needed a new furnace. “Ah… um… well… um…” He cleared his throat. “N-no. Not… um…it usually… longer. Lasts longer.”

The angel stared at him. “You’re blushing!” The smile that lit his face was the most heavenly and diabolic thing Aziraphale had ever seen. “That wasn’t meant to happen, was it? You didn’t make– that was– oh Lord!” He dissolved into helpless laughter. “You’re not meant to do it like that, are you?”

Aziraphale pouted at him. “Six thousand years I’d been waiting for that!” He groped for his handkerchief, mopping at the spatter on his waistcoat and trousers. “And look at the mess you made!”

The angel was actually laughing, laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes. “You! Aziraphale! The one who’ll give anything a go! Didn’t even last ten seconds with an angel!”

“I beg your pardon!” Aziraphale exclaimed indignantly. “Not just an angel! Only you!”

Crowley shoved his hands out of the way and pinned him happily up against the bookshelves again and kissed the pout off his lips. He lifted his still-damp hand and considered it, then offered it to Aziraphale. “Clean me up?”

The demon stifled a small, pitiable moan, his cock already twitching. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you? This is all part of the ineffable plan. This is how you–”

Crowley shut him up by shoving a cum-smeared finger in his mouth. “Oh, shush,” he said, blooming like a sunrise again as Aziraphale sucked and licked at his finger. The demon fixed his eyes on Crowley’s, catching his wrist, then set to work cleaning every inch of his hand.

The angel was squirming in his arms by the time he finished licking between each finger and finally kissed the middle of his palm.

“There,” he said smugly. “All clean.”

“For now,” Crowley agreed, then leaned a little closer, the front of his jeans rubbing against an extraordinarily enthusiastic piece of flesh that had reawoken between them. His lips skimmed Aziraphale’s and his voice was a wicked whisper, “Maybe next time we’ll get to ten seconds, yeah?”

Despite his best intentions, Aziraphale’s hips gave a twitch at the thought and the breath – and groan of embarrassment – caught in his throat.

Crowley peered down between them. “Again?” he said, the smile back in his voice. “For Heaven’s sake, Aziraphale!”

“Gnnn!” Aziraphale groaned, burying his face in his hands.

Gentle fingertips brushed his wrists and Crowley prised his hands apart. He was luminous, eyes shining and warm, and Aziraphale’s mortification fell away. “I think we can excuse you,” he said, slipping his arms back around Aziraphale’s shoulders. “I mean, you’ve been waiting a while.”

“I’m sorry.” Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s middle. “I know you… don’t.”

“Not one of those, no,” Crowley agreed, nuzzling the tip of his nose. “But we can work things out that we both enjoy.” He smiled into a kiss. “Wouldn’t even mind doing that for you sometimes, if you can… calm it down a little bit.”

Aziraphale laughed helplessly. “It might take some practise.”

The angel curled his fingers into Aziraphale’s hair happily. “We have time.”

#fic: inverse omens #october prompts #demon aziraphale #angel crowley #reverse omens

22 notes · View notes