if he is up for what you have in mind
For squeeful, who totally cheated at the never-will-I-ever meme.
Wrapped Up In Books
Doyle wants to visit a bookshop.
Good Omens/Professionals (Bodie/Doyle and Aziraphale/Crowley)
812 words
"Oi, pull in here, will you?"
"Hm? Why?" Bodie asked, even as he swung the Capri around into the lot.
"There's a bookshop I want to check out."
"Thought we were headed down to the pub."
"We are, just...let me have a minute, yeah?"
Bodie's eyes lit up suddenly. "Sure. I'll be right next door."
Doyle glanced up at the neighbouring shop; the sign said Earthly Delights. He sighed. "Bodie."
"What?"
"You do realize that if I was still on the beat, I could arrest the proprietor on obscenity charges? And anyone who happened to be making any purchases at the time?"
"Good thing you're with CI5, then, isn't it?" Bodie said brightly. "And if anyone should bust the place while I'm there, I'll flash them the badge and say I'm on stakeout."
"Just be careful that's the only thing you flash them, yeah?"
"Jealous?"
"Sure, if that's what you want to think." He opened the car door and slid out. "I'll just be a minute."
***
A small bell over the door chimed faintly when Doyle stepped into the shop. The aisles were narrow and meandering, the shelves practically sagging with the weight of the books. He took a deep breath, smelling polished wood and old paper, and smiled.
He wandered down the long rows, occasionally reaching up to draw a book down from the shelf and examine it. At the end of the first aisle, a blond man in a tidy jumper came round the corner, arms laden with books, and nearly ran headlong into Doyle. By some miracle, the stack of books stayed in place.
This had to be the shopkeeper. "Oh, hello," the man said, looking faintly bewildered behind his gold-rimmed glasses. "I'm Ezra Fell. Can I help you?"
Doyle smiled. "Only looking, thanks."
"Well, er, if you need anything, just ask," he said, and vanished around another corner.
A few moments later, the worn gilt on a red spine caught Doyle's eye, and he slid the heavy cloth-bound volume off the shelf. A collection of Keats, in fair shape for all its sun-faded covers. Doyle leafed to the copyright date--1899.
Bodie liked Keats, which surprised Doyle at first--he'd had him pinned as a Kipling sort. It was hard to picture Bodie in a frock-coat, striding across the moors in the rain, composing sonnets and odes.
Bodie's copy of Keats' poems had vanished during one of the last moves. He might appreciate a new copy, or a new old copy. Might even be a first edition, although Doyle didn't know how he'd go about figuring that out.
He followed the aisle towards the centre of the labyrinth, where the bespectacled, entirely unthreatening minotaur sat at his desk. He'd certainly taken care of the pile of books in a hurry.
Mr. Fell looked up as Doyle approached, and his eyes lit on the book with something like despair. "You're not, er..." He adjusted his spectacles. "Are you planning to purchase that?"
"Yes, please," Doyle said. He glanced at the price pencilled inside the cover, hid a grimace, and handed the book over. Had to be a first edition, then.
"Do you enjoy Keats?" Mr. Fell asked brightly.
Doyle smiled wryly. "I'm afraid I'm not much for poetry. It's for a friend."
"That'sss the sort of thing people say when they're buying pornography," a man in dark glasses said, sidling up to the counter. Doyle frowned; he had thought he was the only customer in the shop, and he hadn't heard the bell above the door ring.
Mr. Fell looked annoyed. "This is Anthony Crowley. I apologize for him."
"It's for my partner's birthday," Doyle reiterated sharply.
"Partner?" Crowley asked, his voice suggesting all sorts of devious things.
Doyle levelled a glare at him and refused to blush. "Yeah. My partner."
Mr. Fell gave Crowley a look full of hellfire. "Stop teasing my customers."
The smug look on Crowley's face and the long-suffering expression of Mr. Fell put Doyle strangely in mind of Bodie and himself. "You'll have to excuse him," Crowley said conspiratorially to Doyle. "Giving up books makes him stroppy."
Finally Crowley quailed under the steadily increasing glare of the proprietor, and Doyle paid for the book without further incident.
But as he turned to go, he saw Crowley settle on the edge of Mr. Fell's desk. "So you had to part with a book," he said, his voice almost soft. "It's not the end of the world, angel."
"No," Doyle heard him sigh. "Not yet."
When Doyle emerged from the shop, he found Bodie leaning against the wall, waiting for him. "What took you so long?" he asked, levering himself away from the bricks and starting towards the car.
"I was buying your birthday present," Doyle said, hiding the package under his coat.
"Funny," Bodie said, grinning as he tucked a box under his own jacket. "I was doing the same thing."
Wrapped Up In Books
Doyle wants to visit a bookshop.
Good Omens/Professionals (Bodie/Doyle and Aziraphale/Crowley)
812 words
"Oi, pull in here, will you?"
"Hm? Why?" Bodie asked, even as he swung the Capri around into the lot.
"There's a bookshop I want to check out."
"Thought we were headed down to the pub."
"We are, just...let me have a minute, yeah?"
Bodie's eyes lit up suddenly. "Sure. I'll be right next door."
Doyle glanced up at the neighbouring shop; the sign said Earthly Delights. He sighed. "Bodie."
"What?"
"You do realize that if I was still on the beat, I could arrest the proprietor on obscenity charges? And anyone who happened to be making any purchases at the time?"
"Good thing you're with CI5, then, isn't it?" Bodie said brightly. "And if anyone should bust the place while I'm there, I'll flash them the badge and say I'm on stakeout."
"Just be careful that's the only thing you flash them, yeah?"
"Jealous?"
"Sure, if that's what you want to think." He opened the car door and slid out. "I'll just be a minute."
***
A small bell over the door chimed faintly when Doyle stepped into the shop. The aisles were narrow and meandering, the shelves practically sagging with the weight of the books. He took a deep breath, smelling polished wood and old paper, and smiled.
He wandered down the long rows, occasionally reaching up to draw a book down from the shelf and examine it. At the end of the first aisle, a blond man in a tidy jumper came round the corner, arms laden with books, and nearly ran headlong into Doyle. By some miracle, the stack of books stayed in place.
This had to be the shopkeeper. "Oh, hello," the man said, looking faintly bewildered behind his gold-rimmed glasses. "I'm Ezra Fell. Can I help you?"
Doyle smiled. "Only looking, thanks."
"Well, er, if you need anything, just ask," he said, and vanished around another corner.
A few moments later, the worn gilt on a red spine caught Doyle's eye, and he slid the heavy cloth-bound volume off the shelf. A collection of Keats, in fair shape for all its sun-faded covers. Doyle leafed to the copyright date--1899.
Bodie liked Keats, which surprised Doyle at first--he'd had him pinned as a Kipling sort. It was hard to picture Bodie in a frock-coat, striding across the moors in the rain, composing sonnets and odes.
Bodie's copy of Keats' poems had vanished during one of the last moves. He might appreciate a new copy, or a new old copy. Might even be a first edition, although Doyle didn't know how he'd go about figuring that out.
He followed the aisle towards the centre of the labyrinth, where the bespectacled, entirely unthreatening minotaur sat at his desk. He'd certainly taken care of the pile of books in a hurry.
Mr. Fell looked up as Doyle approached, and his eyes lit on the book with something like despair. "You're not, er..." He adjusted his spectacles. "Are you planning to purchase that?"
"Yes, please," Doyle said. He glanced at the price pencilled inside the cover, hid a grimace, and handed the book over. Had to be a first edition, then.
"Do you enjoy Keats?" Mr. Fell asked brightly.
Doyle smiled wryly. "I'm afraid I'm not much for poetry. It's for a friend."
"That'sss the sort of thing people say when they're buying pornography," a man in dark glasses said, sidling up to the counter. Doyle frowned; he had thought he was the only customer in the shop, and he hadn't heard the bell above the door ring.
Mr. Fell looked annoyed. "This is Anthony Crowley. I apologize for him."
"It's for my partner's birthday," Doyle reiterated sharply.
"Partner?" Crowley asked, his voice suggesting all sorts of devious things.
Doyle levelled a glare at him and refused to blush. "Yeah. My partner."
Mr. Fell gave Crowley a look full of hellfire. "Stop teasing my customers."
The smug look on Crowley's face and the long-suffering expression of Mr. Fell put Doyle strangely in mind of Bodie and himself. "You'll have to excuse him," Crowley said conspiratorially to Doyle. "Giving up books makes him stroppy."
Finally Crowley quailed under the steadily increasing glare of the proprietor, and Doyle paid for the book without further incident.
But as he turned to go, he saw Crowley settle on the edge of Mr. Fell's desk. "So you had to part with a book," he said, his voice almost soft. "It's not the end of the world, angel."
"No," Doyle heard him sigh. "Not yet."
When Doyle emerged from the shop, he found Bodie leaning against the wall, waiting for him. "What took you so long?" he asked, levering himself away from the bricks and starting towards the car.
"I was buying your birthday present," Doyle said, hiding the package under his coat.
"Funny," Bodie said, grinning as he tucked a box under his own jacket. "I was doing the same thing."