Happy Holidays, munanna!
Title: In Our Time
Gift for: munanna
Author: thecrazyalaskan
Pairings / Characters: Crowley x Aziraphale
Rating: T / PG13
Warnings / For: Innuendo; references to and/or implied alcohol, genocide, wars
Summary / Prompt: In Our Time, or Several Vignettes Concerning the Relationship of Aziraphale and Anthony J Crowley
Original Prompt: A long line of seduction scenes, basically - Aziraphale doing some reminiscing while asleep in Crowley's arms or something, remembering how they ended up together. What I'm fishing for is memory scene after memory scene of Crowley trying to seduce Aziraphale in various historical settings, and one scene where he finally gives in and they have hot steamy nc-17 sex. Actually, it doesn't necessarily have to be the first time they go all they way, just the first time Crowley manages to manipulate Aziraphale into giving into the actual relationship. Oh, and a neat little bow on top. ;3
Word Count: Somewhere in the neighborhood of 1,748
Author's Notes: Ooh, so much fun researching all these little details. I'm such a history nerd. Sorry about the distinct lack of NC17 sexytimes. And sorry for Crowley being the secondary character of the pairing. Aziraphale was my muse and I'm powerless to fight said muses. Special thanks to locoexclaimer for beta reading this so close to the deadline. C: Anyway, enjoy, munanna! Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Happy New Year!
Prologue Present Day
Six thousand years (give or take a century), Aziraphale mused, is a long time. A long time in human terms, mind, but quite the expanse of history. A lot had changed, but the one thing certainly hadn’t--the demon who had gone from being an enemy to something of an ally to something of a friend, and now to this, strange (by anyone else's standards, at least) bedfellows--Crowley.
-.-.-.-
Part I - 1650
Like so many still winter nights before this, Aziraphale's head was bent over a Bible. His dark, somber clothes made everything aside from his hands and head blend into the darkness of the bookshop in which he lived and worked. Light from the oil lamp on the table glinted off his eyeglasses and danced on the page.
And suddenly, he was very aware he wasn't alone. "Hello, angel."
Aziraphale's head snapped up. "What are you doing here, Crowley?"
Crowley smiled deviously. "Just dropping by to say hello."
"You've said your hello," Aziraphale replied irritably. "Now go."
Crowley, of course, considered himself too friendly with the angel to take his leave just yet. "You should be out celebrating."
Aziraphale looked up from his Bible, a little wearily. "Dare I ask why?"
"S'Christmas," Crowley replied simply.
Aziraphale ached an eyebrow. "Which was banned three years ago. You know that--we've discussed this every year so far."
Crowley shrugged dismissively. "And every year, humans are celebrating in secret--"
"I didn’t hear that," Aziraphale cut off, holding up a hand. He was still far too tied to Up There too not be abiding by the laws of the Church.
"--and you should join them," Crowley went on after he let the angel speak his piece.
"Pray tell why?" Aziraphale asked, turning back to his reading.
The table creaked as Crowley leaned on it. "You've always been the rebel, Guardian of the Eastern Gate."
Aziraphale sputtered, shocked and a little offended that Crowley would bring that up. "You dem--"
But when he looked up, Crowley was gone.
-.-.-.-
Part II - 1776
His work had shifted. He still had the bookshop (and suspected he always would), but was now spending more and more time in a printshop, this one in particular devoting itself to newspapers. And with the unrest stirring in the colonies, business was doing quite nicely.
Nicely enough, in fact, to warrant a late night at the so-called office. Aziraphale was alone in the print shop, setting the print tiles as if there was no other work in the world.
As he had come to expect on instances when he was completely alone--"Hello, angel."
Aziraphale paused and looked up at the ceiling. "You really must stop popping in like that, Crowley."
Crowley came up alongside him, grinning deviously. "Where's the fun in that?"
Aziraphale didn’t reply, but fixed him with an unamused expression before turning back to the tiles. Crowley looked down at the story and tapped the tiles of the headline, one about more trouble in the colonies. "Little rebellion is good, I always say."
"You're a demon," Aziraphale pointed out, lining up another row of tiles. "Of course you would."
Crowley laid a hand on the angel's shoulder and leaned in close, whispering into his ear, "You're sssertainly not denying it, angel."
Aziraphale stiffened and pulled away, flustered by the intimacy of the gestures, the words, that blasted hiss--and again, Crowley had left as quietly as he'd entered.
-.-.-.-
Part III - 1832
The post came as it always did in the winter, a little late. Aziraphale (or A. Ziraphale, as he was going by at this point in time) collected the mail and thanked the postman before returning to his small backroom and his tea.
A few letters, nothing of note today--except for this one, an envelope written in barely legible, strikingly familiar hand. Curiosity getting the better of him, Aziraphale laid the other mail aside and carefully opened the envelope and removed its contents.
Printed on heavy paper, almost pasteboard, was a winter scene, a small cottage nestled in the hills and covered in snow. It was very charming, but still unexplained in origin. Aziraphale flipped the card over and found a brief message, written in the same handwriting as the envelope:
Angel--
S'this great new thing--cards in the post for the holidays. Really gonna catch on in a few years, believe me.
- Crowley
-.-.-.-
Part IV - 1928
At some point, Aziraphale realized that he had a tendency to work very late nights. The only reason he realized it was simply because... well, he was working late again, though the work in question wasn't related to his bookshop. Sometime he wondered why he volunteered for things, but then he remembered--as an angel, a servant to the greater good, it was in the genes (as they were). That was what he told himself, at least, as he was bent over the election ballots he was tallying.
"So who’s winning then?"
Aziraphale had long ago given up being surprised when Crowley dropped in unannounced; now he was just annoyed that he'd lost count. "I suppose it depends--did you have a hand in either's campaign?"
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Crowley chastised.
"I wouldn't say it's fair to the people who voted in a fixed election," Aziraphale replied calmly, straightening a stack of ballots.
Crowley leaned against the table and tapped a stack of unsorted papers. "Finally got 'round to lettin' women vote then?"
"Better late than never in some circumstances," Aziraphale commented idly, starting to count up the ballots' results.
"Looks like you had a bit of a turnout," Crowley observed, looking over Aziraphale's shoulder.
The angel hmm-ed in acknowledgment, thumbing through the stack of papers.
"Can't say I blame 'em though," Crowley said dismissively. He leaned in close, his chest pressed lightly to Aziraphale's back, and ran his hands down the angel's sides, only applying light pressure when he teasingly gripped the extra weight at Aziraphale's sides. "Women voters were probably coming for the poll master as much as the polls, yeah?"
Aziraphale stiffened and made a surprised, undignified noise. Even in his surprise, he knew exactly what Crowley was going to do next. "Crowley, don't you dare disappear on m--"
Not that Crowley ever listened. Aziraphale turned, and Crowley was gone again, leaving a flustered, red-faced angel in his wake.
-.-.-.-
Part V - 1939
"Up you go, my dear." Aziraphale lifted the last passenger, a young girl of about six, onto the train car. It was late October, and this was his job--getting mothers and their children out of London. The idea of war with Germany was a disquieting one, but a real possibility.
Just as real as the voice behind him, saying, "Hello, angel."
Aziraphale turned, and even though he shouldn't have been, was surprised to see a young man in dark clothes and unusually dark glasses standing behind him. "What are you doing here, Crowley?"
"Dropping in to see how your end is handling things," Crowley said, waving a hand dismissively. Despite his cavalier attitude, his words were strained.
Aziraphale indicated the trains behind him by way of reply. "I wish I understood why you're spending all your time in Germany," he said quietly.
"Research," Crowley replied. He long ago explained to Aziraphale that humans were capable of much worse than demons, and was always finding evidence to try to prove it to the angel. (Privately, Aziraphale was willing to concede the point, given the latest turn in international affairs. Not that he'd admit that to Crowley.)
The angel nodded slowly, then asked. "What's it like over there? For people."
Crowley peeked over the rim of his glasses. Although the demon didn’t need sleep (but did it just for the sake thereof), he looked utterly exhausted. "I drink away what I've seen, angel. Be thankful you don’t have to do the same."
He didn’t have to elaborate on how bad it was. "If you need to immigrate," Aziraphale said softly, stepping closer but still maintaining a respectable distance, "my door is always open to you."
Crowley raised his eyebrows in something that would have been surprise on a lesser demon or possibly even a human. "Wouldn’t look right."
Aziraphale finally closed the distance between them, clapping Crowley on the back. He could faintly feel the demon's wings under his coat, and he offered him a sad smile. "Neither does this."
-.-.-.-
Part VI - 1990s
"Angel, we need to talk."
Unlike times in millennia past, Crowley hadn’t broken the silence by popping in unexpectedly. He was sitting right there across from Aziraphale, staring thoughtfully into his glass of wine.
Aziraphale looked up at him, almost surprised. Not more than six hours prior, they had faced down and subsequently averted the Apocalypse; talking should have been the last thing on their minds. Regardless--"I'm listening."
"We're going to be questioned about this, you realize." Crowley had never been one to beat around the proverbial bush.
"So I gathered," Aziraphale replied with a nod.
"I need to know where you stand with me," Crowley went on, looking at Aziraphale poignantly over the rims of his sunglasses.
Aziraphale returned the expression. "We did this together--"
"Bull." There was a venom in Crowley's voice that could only come of crossness. "Are you going to sssstab a man--"
"A demon," the angel corrected.
"Whatever," Crowley replied shortly, waving the words aside. "Are you going to stab me in the ribs?"
"I'm offended, Crowley," Aziraphale said archly. "You say that like you don't know me."
"An angel would be all too willing to turn against a demon. I know your type--" Crowley began.
"'My type?'" For the first time in readily recalled memory, Aziraphale was positively seething. "Listen here, Anthony Crowley--"
Whatever Aziraphale had wanted, to say or chastise Crowley about, he never got the chance to say as Crowley seized him by the shoulders, pulled him against his chest and pressed their lips together.
Aziraphale started to protest, but was quickly silenced when Crowley kissed him again, running his hands over the angels sides and wings. Perhaps it was the result of spending so much time among humans, combined with the millennia of Crowley's efforts chipping away at him, but whatever it was, it was more than enough to get Aziraphale to reciprocate.
After several moments, the pair broke away, but made no effort to separate themselves. Crowley's next words were so soft, Aziraphale could barely make them out, but when he did, he couldn't help but smile. "Been waitin' sssix thousand years to do that..."
* * * * * * * * *
Crowley, Aziraphale, Good Omens © Neil Gaiman and Terry Prachett
Happy holidays, munanna, from your Secret Writer!
Gift for: munanna
Author: thecrazyalaskan
Pairings / Characters: Crowley x Aziraphale
Rating: T / PG13
Warnings / For: Innuendo; references to and/or implied alcohol, genocide, wars
Summary / Prompt: In Our Time, or Several Vignettes Concerning the Relationship of Aziraphale and Anthony J Crowley
Original Prompt: A long line of seduction scenes, basically - Aziraphale doing some reminiscing while asleep in Crowley's arms or something, remembering how they ended up together. What I'm fishing for is memory scene after memory scene of Crowley trying to seduce Aziraphale in various historical settings, and one scene where he finally gives in and they have hot steamy nc-17 sex. Actually, it doesn't necessarily have to be the first time they go all they way, just the first time Crowley manages to manipulate Aziraphale into giving into the actual relationship. Oh, and a neat little bow on top. ;3
Word Count: Somewhere in the neighborhood of 1,748
Author's Notes: Ooh, so much fun researching all these little details. I'm such a history nerd. Sorry about the distinct lack of NC17 sexytimes. And sorry for Crowley being the secondary character of the pairing. Aziraphale was my muse and I'm powerless to fight said muses. Special thanks to locoexclaimer for beta reading this so close to the deadline. C: Anyway, enjoy, munanna! Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Happy New Year!
Prologue Present Day
Six thousand years (give or take a century), Aziraphale mused, is a long time. A long time in human terms, mind, but quite the expanse of history. A lot had changed, but the one thing certainly hadn’t--the demon who had gone from being an enemy to something of an ally to something of a friend, and now to this, strange (by anyone else's standards, at least) bedfellows--Crowley.
-.-.-.-
Part I - 1650
Like so many still winter nights before this, Aziraphale's head was bent over a Bible. His dark, somber clothes made everything aside from his hands and head blend into the darkness of the bookshop in which he lived and worked. Light from the oil lamp on the table glinted off his eyeglasses and danced on the page.
And suddenly, he was very aware he wasn't alone. "Hello, angel."
Aziraphale's head snapped up. "What are you doing here, Crowley?"
Crowley smiled deviously. "Just dropping by to say hello."
"You've said your hello," Aziraphale replied irritably. "Now go."
Crowley, of course, considered himself too friendly with the angel to take his leave just yet. "You should be out celebrating."
Aziraphale looked up from his Bible, a little wearily. "Dare I ask why?"
"S'Christmas," Crowley replied simply.
Aziraphale ached an eyebrow. "Which was banned three years ago. You know that--we've discussed this every year so far."
Crowley shrugged dismissively. "And every year, humans are celebrating in secret--"
"I didn’t hear that," Aziraphale cut off, holding up a hand. He was still far too tied to Up There too not be abiding by the laws of the Church.
"--and you should join them," Crowley went on after he let the angel speak his piece.
"Pray tell why?" Aziraphale asked, turning back to his reading.
The table creaked as Crowley leaned on it. "You've always been the rebel, Guardian of the Eastern Gate."
Aziraphale sputtered, shocked and a little offended that Crowley would bring that up. "You dem--"
But when he looked up, Crowley was gone.
-.-.-.-
Part II - 1776
His work had shifted. He still had the bookshop (and suspected he always would), but was now spending more and more time in a printshop, this one in particular devoting itself to newspapers. And with the unrest stirring in the colonies, business was doing quite nicely.
Nicely enough, in fact, to warrant a late night at the so-called office. Aziraphale was alone in the print shop, setting the print tiles as if there was no other work in the world.
As he had come to expect on instances when he was completely alone--"Hello, angel."
Aziraphale paused and looked up at the ceiling. "You really must stop popping in like that, Crowley."
Crowley came up alongside him, grinning deviously. "Where's the fun in that?"
Aziraphale didn’t reply, but fixed him with an unamused expression before turning back to the tiles. Crowley looked down at the story and tapped the tiles of the headline, one about more trouble in the colonies. "Little rebellion is good, I always say."
"You're a demon," Aziraphale pointed out, lining up another row of tiles. "Of course you would."
Crowley laid a hand on the angel's shoulder and leaned in close, whispering into his ear, "You're sssertainly not denying it, angel."
Aziraphale stiffened and pulled away, flustered by the intimacy of the gestures, the words, that blasted hiss--and again, Crowley had left as quietly as he'd entered.
-.-.-.-
Part III - 1832
The post came as it always did in the winter, a little late. Aziraphale (or A. Ziraphale, as he was going by at this point in time) collected the mail and thanked the postman before returning to his small backroom and his tea.
A few letters, nothing of note today--except for this one, an envelope written in barely legible, strikingly familiar hand. Curiosity getting the better of him, Aziraphale laid the other mail aside and carefully opened the envelope and removed its contents.
Printed on heavy paper, almost pasteboard, was a winter scene, a small cottage nestled in the hills and covered in snow. It was very charming, but still unexplained in origin. Aziraphale flipped the card over and found a brief message, written in the same handwriting as the envelope:
Angel--
S'this great new thing--cards in the post for the holidays. Really gonna catch on in a few years, believe me.
- Crowley
-.-.-.-
Part IV - 1928
At some point, Aziraphale realized that he had a tendency to work very late nights. The only reason he realized it was simply because... well, he was working late again, though the work in question wasn't related to his bookshop. Sometime he wondered why he volunteered for things, but then he remembered--as an angel, a servant to the greater good, it was in the genes (as they were). That was what he told himself, at least, as he was bent over the election ballots he was tallying.
"So who’s winning then?"
Aziraphale had long ago given up being surprised when Crowley dropped in unannounced; now he was just annoyed that he'd lost count. "I suppose it depends--did you have a hand in either's campaign?"
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Crowley chastised.
"I wouldn't say it's fair to the people who voted in a fixed election," Aziraphale replied calmly, straightening a stack of ballots.
Crowley leaned against the table and tapped a stack of unsorted papers. "Finally got 'round to lettin' women vote then?"
"Better late than never in some circumstances," Aziraphale commented idly, starting to count up the ballots' results.
"Looks like you had a bit of a turnout," Crowley observed, looking over Aziraphale's shoulder.
The angel hmm-ed in acknowledgment, thumbing through the stack of papers.
"Can't say I blame 'em though," Crowley said dismissively. He leaned in close, his chest pressed lightly to Aziraphale's back, and ran his hands down the angel's sides, only applying light pressure when he teasingly gripped the extra weight at Aziraphale's sides. "Women voters were probably coming for the poll master as much as the polls, yeah?"
Aziraphale stiffened and made a surprised, undignified noise. Even in his surprise, he knew exactly what Crowley was going to do next. "Crowley, don't you dare disappear on m--"
Not that Crowley ever listened. Aziraphale turned, and Crowley was gone again, leaving a flustered, red-faced angel in his wake.
-.-.-.-
Part V - 1939
"Up you go, my dear." Aziraphale lifted the last passenger, a young girl of about six, onto the train car. It was late October, and this was his job--getting mothers and their children out of London. The idea of war with Germany was a disquieting one, but a real possibility.
Just as real as the voice behind him, saying, "Hello, angel."
Aziraphale turned, and even though he shouldn't have been, was surprised to see a young man in dark clothes and unusually dark glasses standing behind him. "What are you doing here, Crowley?"
"Dropping in to see how your end is handling things," Crowley said, waving a hand dismissively. Despite his cavalier attitude, his words were strained.
Aziraphale indicated the trains behind him by way of reply. "I wish I understood why you're spending all your time in Germany," he said quietly.
"Research," Crowley replied. He long ago explained to Aziraphale that humans were capable of much worse than demons, and was always finding evidence to try to prove it to the angel. (Privately, Aziraphale was willing to concede the point, given the latest turn in international affairs. Not that he'd admit that to Crowley.)
The angel nodded slowly, then asked. "What's it like over there? For people."
Crowley peeked over the rim of his glasses. Although the demon didn’t need sleep (but did it just for the sake thereof), he looked utterly exhausted. "I drink away what I've seen, angel. Be thankful you don’t have to do the same."
He didn’t have to elaborate on how bad it was. "If you need to immigrate," Aziraphale said softly, stepping closer but still maintaining a respectable distance, "my door is always open to you."
Crowley raised his eyebrows in something that would have been surprise on a lesser demon or possibly even a human. "Wouldn’t look right."
Aziraphale finally closed the distance between them, clapping Crowley on the back. He could faintly feel the demon's wings under his coat, and he offered him a sad smile. "Neither does this."
-.-.-.-
Part VI - 1990s
"Angel, we need to talk."
Unlike times in millennia past, Crowley hadn’t broken the silence by popping in unexpectedly. He was sitting right there across from Aziraphale, staring thoughtfully into his glass of wine.
Aziraphale looked up at him, almost surprised. Not more than six hours prior, they had faced down and subsequently averted the Apocalypse; talking should have been the last thing on their minds. Regardless--"I'm listening."
"We're going to be questioned about this, you realize." Crowley had never been one to beat around the proverbial bush.
"So I gathered," Aziraphale replied with a nod.
"I need to know where you stand with me," Crowley went on, looking at Aziraphale poignantly over the rims of his sunglasses.
Aziraphale returned the expression. "We did this together--"
"Bull." There was a venom in Crowley's voice that could only come of crossness. "Are you going to sssstab a man--"
"A demon," the angel corrected.
"Whatever," Crowley replied shortly, waving the words aside. "Are you going to stab me in the ribs?"
"I'm offended, Crowley," Aziraphale said archly. "You say that like you don't know me."
"An angel would be all too willing to turn against a demon. I know your type--" Crowley began.
"'My type?'" For the first time in readily recalled memory, Aziraphale was positively seething. "Listen here, Anthony Crowley--"
Whatever Aziraphale had wanted, to say or chastise Crowley about, he never got the chance to say as Crowley seized him by the shoulders, pulled him against his chest and pressed their lips together.
Aziraphale started to protest, but was quickly silenced when Crowley kissed him again, running his hands over the angels sides and wings. Perhaps it was the result of spending so much time among humans, combined with the millennia of Crowley's efforts chipping away at him, but whatever it was, it was more than enough to get Aziraphale to reciprocate.
After several moments, the pair broke away, but made no effort to separate themselves. Crowley's next words were so soft, Aziraphale could barely make them out, but when he did, he couldn't help but smile. "Been waitin' sssix thousand years to do that..."
* * * * * * * * *
Crowley, Aziraphale, Good Omens © Neil Gaiman and Terry Prachett
Happy holidays, munanna, from your Secret Writer!