Happy Holidays, argyleheir!
Title: Loving by Proxy
Gift for: argyleheir
Gift from: waxbean
Rating: PG
Genre & characters: Aziraphale/Crowley
Word count: ~1950
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley get into some tight spots.
Request: Historical, humor, and/or holidays -- mistaken identity, oneupmanship, gadgets, pop culture, voyeurism, public displays of affection
Author's notes: I got some of your requests in - I do hope you enjoy this, Argyleheir. You are one of my favorite authors in this fandom!
Thanks to my beta, who shall remain nameless for the time being.
This was inspired by two wonderful fanworks- one, Eldanis' A/C painting and a particularly hot scene from Vulgarweed's The Phoenix and the Turtle 'Verse.
This is very secretly a crossover with Supernatural. However, you don't need to know a single thing about that universe to read this fic.
Lastly, while it is true that the title echoes a line from an old Cutting Crew song, I mean nothing by it!
Crowley was not one to blindly give in to panic. But as he crouched behind Aziraphale in the tiny stockroom of the pub while two cranky warrior angels sat less than 20 feet away, he decided that feelings of panic were actually rather appropriate.
“You're stepping on my foot, Angel,” Crowley hissed. Aziraphale shook his head and Crowley got an unwelcome mouthful of feathery fringes of blondish gray hair. Crowley noticed that this produced an additional if rather different sort of anxiety. Inwardly, he cursed all angels.
“And you're tempting fate, my dear. Angels have excellent hearing,” Aziraphale whispered as he shuffled a bit to the left, liberating Crowley's foot.
“Presumably you can you hear what they're saying, then?” Crowley asked, feeling tufts of Aziraphale's hair move as he spoke. Aziraphale abruptly turned around to face him, absently patting down his wayward locks of hair.
“Of course, but it doesn't really make any sense,” Aziraphale replied. Even in the dim light of the stockroom, Crowley could see Aziraphale's troubled expression. “They've mentioned two names I don't recognize and something about monkeys, I believe.”
“What? Are they speaking in code?”
“Don't be ridiculous. Since when do angels need to speak in code in order to be indecipherable?”
Crowley considered this. “Point.”
“I don't know what they're referring to but it's not you or me. I'm sure they didn't see us.”
While Crowley felt slightly relieved, there was still the small matter of Aziraphale being entirely too squashed up against him to address. He took a half-step away from the angel which had him closer to a mop than he'd ever been in his life. “Why are they here then, if not for us?”
Aziraphale looked thoughtful as he moved the mop away from Crowley's back. “Well, I did mention this place to Uriel as a lovely spot for the occasional clandestine meeting. But that was more than three hundred years ago. It wasn't much of a pub then. More of a salon, as I recall.”
“You told him…” Crowley had been the one to bring Aziraphale here in the first place. He suppressed an irrational surge of jealousy as there were still more pressing feelings of panic to attend to. “Still, what would bring them here now?”
“Well, the wine cellar has always been well-stocked,” Aziraphale said earnestly.
Crowley snickered. “As if you'd patronize any other kind of establishment.”
Aziraphale didn't answer as he turned back to look out into the pub. Crowley followed his gaze to their now-vacant table.
Aziraphale sighed. “Pity. We left the bottle just sitting there. Do you think they'd noticed if I--”
“Yes. Don't risk it, Angel. We should get out of here. Or I should get out of here, at the very least. What could they to do to you? Buy you a drink? Regale you with holy tidings? Share glorious tales of smiting?”
Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I don't fancy finding out. Castiel's not so bad but Uriel-- ”
“--Yes, I remember,” Crowley said, because some things were so horrible that they could not be forgotten. “A specialist.”
Aziraphale shivered and Crowley suppressed his morbid curiosity. He really didn't want to know any more than he did already.
“They're right in front of the door. Other than sitting here while you blow in my hair, dear boy, what are our options?”
“I was not blowing in your hair.” Crowley leaned past Aziraphale, his shoulder grazing the worn old material of Aziraphale's hopelessly dated coat. It was silly that such a simple action should be so comforting. And it was even sillier that he could admit to himself that he didn't want to think about why it was so comforting. He looked around the pub.
“A couple of mobile phones, a radio, one television…” he muttered.
“A television? I think now is hardly the time for your serials, Crowley.”
Crowley glanced back at Aziraphale and tried to calculate the likelihood of getting both himself and the angel out of the pub through a series of broadcast signals (which would likely have to be explained) without alerting the two entirely humorless angels of their supernatural presence. But waiting it out in the cramped closet didn't seem like the best choice, either.
“Better keep this simple. See that couple over there?”
“Where?”
“Those two blokes sitting together at the bar.”
Aziraphale leaned against Crowley to peer out of the cracked doorway. “They're a couple? Are you certain? They're not even talking.”
“Look at the way they're sitting, at how close they are. Anyway, that's not point.”
“What is it, then?”
Crowley dropped his gaze to his feet. “We could, er, hitch a ride.”
“Possession?” Aziraphale looked almost comically outraged.
“Don't take that tone with me. I happen to know that you possessed no less than six humans after you were exorcized out of your own bookstore-”
“Oh, all right,” Aziraphale huffed. “No need to drag that up.”
“I'll get them to come over here. We jump in, walk by the angels, go outside, and no one is the wiser.”
“We'll have to do it lightly, you know. Otherwise Uriel and Castiel will suspect that something is amiss.”
Crowley snorted. “This is hardly my first time giving angels the slip, you know. Ready?”
As subtly as he could, Crowley encouraged the two human males sitting at the bar to get up and head to the restrooms. When the first, a tall lanky man dressed in a rumpled gray business suit, walked by, he nudged Aziraphale. “That one's yours.”
Aziraphale sighed in resignation. “Be cautious, my dear.” Then he disappeared.
The tiny closet was suddenly vast in its emptiness. Crowley looked out of the cracked doorway into the pub. He waited for a reaction - any reaction, from the newly possessed human, the two angels, the electricity, anything. Other than the briefest flickering of the lights, there was nothing.
He could see Aziraphale causally, if a little bit awkwardly, walk into the pub, past the angels, and towards the front door. When he pulled open the door, he turned, just for an instant, and looked to where Crowley was still hiding. The human's features were unfamiliar but the smile was reassuringly Aziraphale's.
Crowley waited for the second man, who was shorter but much better dressed than the first, to emerge from the restroom. When he did, Crowley closed his eyes, focused on the human, and felt a fleeting sense of vertigo. When he opened his eyes again, he noticed two things. First, this human was apparently colorblind. And second, the two angels were now watching him.
Steady, steady, Crowley thought, as much for his nerves as for the human's sudden bout of clumsiness. He just needed to get outside to where Aziraphale was waiting by the Bentley. As smoothly as he could, he motivated the human to pay his tab, pick up his coat, and head outside. When he was certain that his host was complying, he receded as far back into the human's consciousness as he could.
Crowley was nearly out of the door when he felt his host's confusion give way to uneasiness; he knew that the two angels were following him. At least the host was moving more quickly now without the need for Crowley's interference.
The first breath of fresh night air was like a drug. He could see, albeit in shades of gray, Aziraphale's host loitering awkwardly next to the Bentley. Aziraphale's recognizable smile pulled Crowley like a beacon. He was less than ten feet away when Aziraphale's smile faltered. Even from the confines of a human vessel, he felt the shift in the atmosphere that could only indicate that the two angels were now outside.
Crowley held no illusions that Uriel wouldn't hesitate to Discorporate him, even while he was wearing a human body. Feelings of guilt were now warring with panic, and he pulled himself as far back into the human's mind as he dared.
“There you are, my dear,” Aziraphale said, his smile now firmly back in place. And in a voice that sounded uncannily like his own true voice, he said, “I was about to send a patrol after you.”
Crowley could say two things to say about this particular manifestation of Aziraphale: one, his sense of humor was as questionable as ever; and two, his borrowed voice conveyed strength and protection that made Crowley believe that not only were they going to get out of this, but they'd probably laugh about it tomorrow.
The angels were still there, but Crowley could tell that they were hanging back, watching, probably trying to be subtle.
Aziraphale closed the distance between them, pulled him in close with long lanky arms, and clumsily pressed their lips together. While Crowley and his host were utterly stunned, neither resisted the embrace. Long narrow fingers gripped his jaw, holding it in place while a smooth shaven cheek grazed against the side of his mouth. Then Aziraphale's mouth closed over his again, this time with much more grace and conviction. What began as rough, haphazard, and one-sided quickly became fierce, elegant, and entirely reciprocated.
Even without the sensitivity of his own tongue, Crowley could taste Aziraphale and wanted to chide him for being so close to the surface of his host. The kiss was so intensely Aziraphale. Crowley thought it was a wonder that the other two angels hadn't already smited him back to hell and whisked Aziraphale away to wherever it was that angels were taken when they'd been busted kissing demons.
The whole thing should have been weirder, Crowley was certain of that. But it wasn't. It was magnificent and breathtaking, sexy and hot, and above all, natural. As Aziraphale bit the bottom of his lip, expertly mixing in pain with pleasure, Crowley briefly wondered how much of this could be blamed on the two humans.
Even from his lust-induced haze, Crowley could sense that the angels were retreating.
“Let's go,” Castiel said quietly.
“Mud monkeys,” Uriel sneered.
“They're gone,” Aziraphale whispered against his mouth. Crowley felt one last feather-light kiss on his borrowed lips. He opened his eyes. When had he closed them? Aziraphale had already left his host. With a deep cleansing breath, Crowley moved out of his human vessel and slid his body into the driver's seat of the Bentley. Aziraphale was already waiting for him.
***
“Well, that was interesting,” Crowley said after several long minutes of awkward silence.
“I owe you an apology, Crowley. I'm terribly sorry I told Uriel about this place. And I'm sorry I doubted you about those two being a couple. Obviously, I was mistaken - and a good thing, too. If there's one thing that will throw angels off, it's love.”
Crowley knew this - he remembered that night in Lower Tadfield about as clearly he remembered his host's utter shock at being kissed by Aziraphale. Crowley didn't respond. He didn't want to risk saying the wrong thing or anything really. So he put the key in the ignition and said, “Where to now?”
“Well, I suppose we could go and finish this off - it'd be a shame to waste it.”
Crowley looked over at Aziraphale. He was holding the corked bottle of wine that they hadn't finished and he was smiling a smile that was uniquely his own.
***
Back in the parking lot, after several long minutes of throat clearing and feet shuffling, one short but well-dressed human male said, “Er - ”
“Um. Yeah, I am so sorry about that. I don't know what came over me,” answered a much taller but more frumpily dressed human male.
After another long moment, the shorter man replied, “Well, I didn't really mind.”
The taller man smiled hugely and said, “You know, it's still a bit early. Would you like to go back inside and get a drink?”
***
HAPPY HOLIDAYS, ARGYLEHEIR!
Gift for: argyleheir
Gift from: waxbean
Rating: PG
Genre & characters: Aziraphale/Crowley
Word count: ~1950
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley get into some tight spots.
Request: Historical, humor, and/or holidays -- mistaken identity, oneupmanship, gadgets, pop culture, voyeurism, public displays of affection
Author's notes: I got some of your requests in - I do hope you enjoy this, Argyleheir. You are one of my favorite authors in this fandom!
Thanks to my beta, who shall remain nameless for the time being.
This was inspired by two wonderful fanworks- one, Eldanis' A/C painting and a particularly hot scene from Vulgarweed's The Phoenix and the Turtle 'Verse.
This is very secretly a crossover with Supernatural. However, you don't need to know a single thing about that universe to read this fic.
Lastly, while it is true that the title echoes a line from an old Cutting Crew song, I mean nothing by it!
Crowley was not one to blindly give in to panic. But as he crouched behind Aziraphale in the tiny stockroom of the pub while two cranky warrior angels sat less than 20 feet away, he decided that feelings of panic were actually rather appropriate.
“You're stepping on my foot, Angel,” Crowley hissed. Aziraphale shook his head and Crowley got an unwelcome mouthful of feathery fringes of blondish gray hair. Crowley noticed that this produced an additional if rather different sort of anxiety. Inwardly, he cursed all angels.
“And you're tempting fate, my dear. Angels have excellent hearing,” Aziraphale whispered as he shuffled a bit to the left, liberating Crowley's foot.
“Presumably you can you hear what they're saying, then?” Crowley asked, feeling tufts of Aziraphale's hair move as he spoke. Aziraphale abruptly turned around to face him, absently patting down his wayward locks of hair.
“Of course, but it doesn't really make any sense,” Aziraphale replied. Even in the dim light of the stockroom, Crowley could see Aziraphale's troubled expression. “They've mentioned two names I don't recognize and something about monkeys, I believe.”
“What? Are they speaking in code?”
“Don't be ridiculous. Since when do angels need to speak in code in order to be indecipherable?”
Crowley considered this. “Point.”
“I don't know what they're referring to but it's not you or me. I'm sure they didn't see us.”
While Crowley felt slightly relieved, there was still the small matter of Aziraphale being entirely too squashed up against him to address. He took a half-step away from the angel which had him closer to a mop than he'd ever been in his life. “Why are they here then, if not for us?”
Aziraphale looked thoughtful as he moved the mop away from Crowley's back. “Well, I did mention this place to Uriel as a lovely spot for the occasional clandestine meeting. But that was more than three hundred years ago. It wasn't much of a pub then. More of a salon, as I recall.”
“You told him…” Crowley had been the one to bring Aziraphale here in the first place. He suppressed an irrational surge of jealousy as there were still more pressing feelings of panic to attend to. “Still, what would bring them here now?”
“Well, the wine cellar has always been well-stocked,” Aziraphale said earnestly.
Crowley snickered. “As if you'd patronize any other kind of establishment.”
Aziraphale didn't answer as he turned back to look out into the pub. Crowley followed his gaze to their now-vacant table.
Aziraphale sighed. “Pity. We left the bottle just sitting there. Do you think they'd noticed if I--”
“Yes. Don't risk it, Angel. We should get out of here. Or I should get out of here, at the very least. What could they to do to you? Buy you a drink? Regale you with holy tidings? Share glorious tales of smiting?”
Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I don't fancy finding out. Castiel's not so bad but Uriel-- ”
“--Yes, I remember,” Crowley said, because some things were so horrible that they could not be forgotten. “A specialist.”
Aziraphale shivered and Crowley suppressed his morbid curiosity. He really didn't want to know any more than he did already.
“They're right in front of the door. Other than sitting here while you blow in my hair, dear boy, what are our options?”
“I was not blowing in your hair.” Crowley leaned past Aziraphale, his shoulder grazing the worn old material of Aziraphale's hopelessly dated coat. It was silly that such a simple action should be so comforting. And it was even sillier that he could admit to himself that he didn't want to think about why it was so comforting. He looked around the pub.
“A couple of mobile phones, a radio, one television…” he muttered.
“A television? I think now is hardly the time for your serials, Crowley.”
Crowley glanced back at Aziraphale and tried to calculate the likelihood of getting both himself and the angel out of the pub through a series of broadcast signals (which would likely have to be explained) without alerting the two entirely humorless angels of their supernatural presence. But waiting it out in the cramped closet didn't seem like the best choice, either.
“Better keep this simple. See that couple over there?”
“Where?”
“Those two blokes sitting together at the bar.”
Aziraphale leaned against Crowley to peer out of the cracked doorway. “They're a couple? Are you certain? They're not even talking.”
“Look at the way they're sitting, at how close they are. Anyway, that's not point.”
“What is it, then?”
Crowley dropped his gaze to his feet. “We could, er, hitch a ride.”
“Possession?” Aziraphale looked almost comically outraged.
“Don't take that tone with me. I happen to know that you possessed no less than six humans after you were exorcized out of your own bookstore-”
“Oh, all right,” Aziraphale huffed. “No need to drag that up.”
“I'll get them to come over here. We jump in, walk by the angels, go outside, and no one is the wiser.”
“We'll have to do it lightly, you know. Otherwise Uriel and Castiel will suspect that something is amiss.”
Crowley snorted. “This is hardly my first time giving angels the slip, you know. Ready?”
As subtly as he could, Crowley encouraged the two human males sitting at the bar to get up and head to the restrooms. When the first, a tall lanky man dressed in a rumpled gray business suit, walked by, he nudged Aziraphale. “That one's yours.”
Aziraphale sighed in resignation. “Be cautious, my dear.” Then he disappeared.
The tiny closet was suddenly vast in its emptiness. Crowley looked out of the cracked doorway into the pub. He waited for a reaction - any reaction, from the newly possessed human, the two angels, the electricity, anything. Other than the briefest flickering of the lights, there was nothing.
He could see Aziraphale causally, if a little bit awkwardly, walk into the pub, past the angels, and towards the front door. When he pulled open the door, he turned, just for an instant, and looked to where Crowley was still hiding. The human's features were unfamiliar but the smile was reassuringly Aziraphale's.
Crowley waited for the second man, who was shorter but much better dressed than the first, to emerge from the restroom. When he did, Crowley closed his eyes, focused on the human, and felt a fleeting sense of vertigo. When he opened his eyes again, he noticed two things. First, this human was apparently colorblind. And second, the two angels were now watching him.
Steady, steady, Crowley thought, as much for his nerves as for the human's sudden bout of clumsiness. He just needed to get outside to where Aziraphale was waiting by the Bentley. As smoothly as he could, he motivated the human to pay his tab, pick up his coat, and head outside. When he was certain that his host was complying, he receded as far back into the human's consciousness as he could.
Crowley was nearly out of the door when he felt his host's confusion give way to uneasiness; he knew that the two angels were following him. At least the host was moving more quickly now without the need for Crowley's interference.
The first breath of fresh night air was like a drug. He could see, albeit in shades of gray, Aziraphale's host loitering awkwardly next to the Bentley. Aziraphale's recognizable smile pulled Crowley like a beacon. He was less than ten feet away when Aziraphale's smile faltered. Even from the confines of a human vessel, he felt the shift in the atmosphere that could only indicate that the two angels were now outside.
Crowley held no illusions that Uriel wouldn't hesitate to Discorporate him, even while he was wearing a human body. Feelings of guilt were now warring with panic, and he pulled himself as far back into the human's mind as he dared.
“There you are, my dear,” Aziraphale said, his smile now firmly back in place. And in a voice that sounded uncannily like his own true voice, he said, “I was about to send a patrol after you.”
Crowley could say two things to say about this particular manifestation of Aziraphale: one, his sense of humor was as questionable as ever; and two, his borrowed voice conveyed strength and protection that made Crowley believe that not only were they going to get out of this, but they'd probably laugh about it tomorrow.
The angels were still there, but Crowley could tell that they were hanging back, watching, probably trying to be subtle.
Aziraphale closed the distance between them, pulled him in close with long lanky arms, and clumsily pressed their lips together. While Crowley and his host were utterly stunned, neither resisted the embrace. Long narrow fingers gripped his jaw, holding it in place while a smooth shaven cheek grazed against the side of his mouth. Then Aziraphale's mouth closed over his again, this time with much more grace and conviction. What began as rough, haphazard, and one-sided quickly became fierce, elegant, and entirely reciprocated.
Even without the sensitivity of his own tongue, Crowley could taste Aziraphale and wanted to chide him for being so close to the surface of his host. The kiss was so intensely Aziraphale. Crowley thought it was a wonder that the other two angels hadn't already smited him back to hell and whisked Aziraphale away to wherever it was that angels were taken when they'd been busted kissing demons.
The whole thing should have been weirder, Crowley was certain of that. But it wasn't. It was magnificent and breathtaking, sexy and hot, and above all, natural. As Aziraphale bit the bottom of his lip, expertly mixing in pain with pleasure, Crowley briefly wondered how much of this could be blamed on the two humans.
Even from his lust-induced haze, Crowley could sense that the angels were retreating.
“Let's go,” Castiel said quietly.
“Mud monkeys,” Uriel sneered.
“They're gone,” Aziraphale whispered against his mouth. Crowley felt one last feather-light kiss on his borrowed lips. He opened his eyes. When had he closed them? Aziraphale had already left his host. With a deep cleansing breath, Crowley moved out of his human vessel and slid his body into the driver's seat of the Bentley. Aziraphale was already waiting for him.
***
“Well, that was interesting,” Crowley said after several long minutes of awkward silence.
“I owe you an apology, Crowley. I'm terribly sorry I told Uriel about this place. And I'm sorry I doubted you about those two being a couple. Obviously, I was mistaken - and a good thing, too. If there's one thing that will throw angels off, it's love.”
Crowley knew this - he remembered that night in Lower Tadfield about as clearly he remembered his host's utter shock at being kissed by Aziraphale. Crowley didn't respond. He didn't want to risk saying the wrong thing or anything really. So he put the key in the ignition and said, “Where to now?”
“Well, I suppose we could go and finish this off - it'd be a shame to waste it.”
Crowley looked over at Aziraphale. He was holding the corked bottle of wine that they hadn't finished and he was smiling a smile that was uniquely his own.
***
Back in the parking lot, after several long minutes of throat clearing and feet shuffling, one short but well-dressed human male said, “Er - ”
“Um. Yeah, I am so sorry about that. I don't know what came over me,” answered a much taller but more frumpily dressed human male.
After another long moment, the shorter man replied, “Well, I didn't really mind.”
The taller man smiled hugely and said, “You know, it's still a bit early. Would you like to go back inside and get a drink?”
***
HAPPY HOLIDAYS, ARGYLEHEIR!