Gift Fic for Such_Heights!
Title: Favors
Gift for: such_heights
Author: musegaarid
Rating: PG
Prompt: Something light, preferably humorous, if it's gen then interesting, possibly slightly unusual characterisation, if it's slash, then nothing too sappy, please! Historical setting would also be fabulous.
49 BC
Crowley burst through the door. "I need a favor!"
Aziraphale jumped from the table mid-chew, sending his bowl of dates clattering to the floor. He lined up the usual 'get thee behind me, demon' speech in his head, but the realization that Crowley had just asked him for help suddenly collided with his mouthful of fruit, resulting in the far less impressive "GEHTHHH... bg... wha?"
"Favor, angel!" Crowley repeated, looking somewhat harried. "I need you to do something for me."
"And why would I do anything for you?" asked Aziraphale, unsticking his jaws and straightening slowly, in the cautious way one moves when it becomes clear that one's conversational partner is out of his mind.
The demon's panic suddenly transmuted into an air that he liked to call 'casual smug'. He'd practiced. "Because," he said, grinning like the snake that had eaten the cat who'd gotten into the cream, "I have the original copy of Herodotus' Histories. In his own handwriting. With the wine stain on page 56."
Aziraphale's eyes were satisfyingly round. "How… no, why would you have that?"
"In case I ever needed a favor from you."
"You've held onto a book for four hundred years in case you ever needed to bribe me?" the angel summarized, unsurprised. "You're insufferable."
"I know. So will you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Be my slave."
A flat glare. "No."
"But…"
"No, Crowley. Go away."
"Histories…"
Aziraphale closed his eyes. Damn the serpent (again) and damn his evil temptations. But you can't really tempt an angel, right? Since they have no free will? And really, someone has to think of the books…
He sighed. "What exactly will this entail?" he asked, not sure he wanted the answer.
Crowley told him.
"No."
"C'mon, it's only for a couple of hours. And no one will know it's you."
The angel rubbed the bridge of his nose as if he were trying to develop a headache. "Why don't you just buy a slave? I know you can afford it."
Crowley's expression went through disgust followed by horror and came out the other side looking rather comical. Aziraphale pressed his lips together trying to look thoughtful, but he ended up looking more constipated than anything else. Together they made a ridiculous tableau.
Eventually Crowley just said, "Don't be crude."
"I didn't know you cared about them so much."
"And don't be stupid either," Crowley grimaced. "Having slaves is like having rats. They get into everything and eat a lot. A demon needs his privacy." He grinned slowly. "You'll understand, I'm sure..." It was a deeply suggestive ellipsis.
The angel refused to acknowledge the promise inherent in any way. "So you're saying that you don't trust them."
"Exactly."
It logically followed then, that by asking Aziraphale for help, Crowley was saying that he did trust Aziraphale, at least to some extent. The angel thought about this, but decided it was better not to mention it. "All right," he said eventually.
Crowley's eyes lit up. "You'll do it?"
"Yes."
The demon smirked. The angel hid his worry.
"Good. Meet me at the Thermae Agrippae after lunch tomorrow." With a smarmy wave, Crowley left.
"Knock next time," Aziraphale called after him.
-
Crowley was already holding court in the largest of the warm baths with a number of government types when Aziraphale walked in. Fortunately no one saw the demon's jaw drop* as they, too, had all turned to stare in awe at the stunning young man moving shyly toward the pool.
Without taking his eyes off the angel, Titus Labienus leaned over to Crowley and said, "I'll give you two thousand denarii for that boy."
Looking somewhat surprised at the offer - the going rate was only five hundred - Crowley murmured bemusedly back, "He's not for sale."
Aziraphale picked his way carefully around the bath to bend down next to Crowley. Twenty-one eyes (Cnaeus had had that little problem) slid over his backside. Flushing, the angel quickly knelt instead. "I've brought your oil and strigil, master," said Aziraphale in a soft, husky voice. He was certain that someone groaned. Then, in ancient Babylonian so that only Crowley would understand, the angel added, "This is humiliating. They're all looking at me. And I'm inciting lust, of all things."
"That's the point," said Crowley, "Keep their attention. Distract them. You look ridiculous enough." Switching back to Latin, he said, "Well done, Athanas. Stay here and attend me."
"Yes, master," Aziraphale replied, playing his part even though his eyes plainly said that the demon would come to regret this some day.
-
For an hour or so, the angel watched, impressed against his will at how Crowley handled his work. It was infinitely subtle, unless you knew what you were looking for. The demon never once spoke out against Caesar, but was kindly sympathetic to everyone's complaints about the emperor in a way Aziraphale hadn't thought him capable of being. He'd never seen the demon so... nice. It was unnerving, like having a shark smile at you.
By the end of it, the humans had all talked themselves into opposing Caesar, convinced of Crowley's support though it had never really been offered. Aziraphale couldn't do anything about that; he'd promised not to interfere. But he did learn some of Crowley's plans and methodology, which proved to be quite educational and would make it easier to oppose the demon in the future.
As the meeting devolved from the serious topic of civil war into more social conversation, Aziraphale approached the pool again, the demon's towel in hand. As he bent over to hand it to Crowley, someone's hand started sliding up the back of his thigh. He squeaked and stumbled, falling right into the bath.
Before he had the faintest idea of what to do, Crowley pulled him out of the water and began kissing him thoroughly. Without thinking, the angel kissed back, stunned and trying not to inhale bath water. There was a disappointed sigh around the tub from twenty-one lips. (Cnaeus again.)
Spluttering, Aziraphale started to say, "What..."
"Shut up, angel. I'm preserving your virtue."
"You have a funny way of doing it."
Crowley just kissed him again. Then, easily lifting Aziraphale's currently teenaged body out of the water, the demon began to carry him to one of the oiling rooms. Looking back over his shoulder at the men in the bath, Crowley said, "Excuse me a moment, gentlemen..." And a series of conspiratorial leers followed them out.
As soon as Crowley set Aziraphale down inside the private room, the angel swiveled to glare at him.
"Now what was that about?" he demanded, hands firmly on hips.
The demon sighed. "If I hadn't shown them that you were more than just my slave, you'd have had two, maybe three of them follow you home. I trust I don't have to explain further."
Aziraphale looked shocked. "But I'm yours. They wouldn't try anything for fear of angering you. Right?"
"Slaves are fair game unless specifically stated otherwise. That was specifically stating otherwise." After a long, tense silence, Crowley stepped very near to Aziraphale and said, "But for the record..."
"Yes?" asked Aziraphale, unaccountably nervous.
"You're a lousy kisser."
The angel colored. "I should hope so!"
"I mean, really terrible. That was probably the worst kiss I've had in four thousand years..."
"Yes, that's enough, thank you," came the cross response.
-
2,000 Some Odd Years Later
The phone rang shrilly in the quiet of early morning. Crowley blinked sleepily as he answered.
"Yeah?"
"Crowley, come quickly. I need a favor!"
"You… wha?"
"Favor, my dear!" Aziraphale repeated, sounding somewhat harried. "I need you to do something for me."
"And why would I do anything for you?"
"Because we have an Arrangement," said Aziraphale before ringing off. It was a good reason; it saved a lot of arguments in the long run.
Grumbling, the demon crawled out of bed, dressed, and made it to Aziraphale's shop in good time, tarrying only the amount of time it took to nearly hit three nuns and a small dog. (He'd been aiming for the dog, but he took points for the nuns, who wobbled and went down like bowling pins.)
The bells jingled cheerfully as he opened the door to the little bookshop in Soho and stepped inside. Crowley only had a moment to take in the woman standing at the counter before he found himself with an armful of angel, who was suddenly kissing him enthusiastically. Dazed, he kissed back as heels tapped hastily across the warped wooden floor, and the door slammed in a tangle of bells. Aziraphale stopped abruptly, pulling back to glance out the dusty window.
"What..."
"Hush," said Aziraphale, fixing Crowley's rumpled collar. "I'm preserving my virtue."
"You have a funny way of doing it..."
Aziraphale just kissed him again - thankfully, on the cheek.
"Now what was that about?" demanded Crowley.
"I'm afraid Sophia rather fancies me, the poor girl, and just wouldn't take no for an answer. Sometimes one must be cruel to be kind."
The demon's glare could have cut through a tin can and still sliced a tomato afterward. "You're still a crappy kisser," he muttered.
"I should say so," the angel replied calmly. "It was only my second. May I make up for your terribly traumatic experience somehow?"
Crowley stared for a moment, then shrugged. It didn't matter. "Sure thing. I'll cash in my favor in the early 4000s."
Aziraphale smiled. "Till then, lunch?"
"You're paying."
"Of course."
The angel flipped his sign to read 'Closed - Please do not call again'.
-
*And dislocate. It was a snake thing.
Happy Holidays, such_heights, from your Secret Writer!
Gift for: such_heights
Author: musegaarid
Rating: PG
Prompt: Something light, preferably humorous, if it's gen then interesting, possibly slightly unusual characterisation, if it's slash, then nothing too sappy, please! Historical setting would also be fabulous.
49 BC
Crowley burst through the door. "I need a favor!"
Aziraphale jumped from the table mid-chew, sending his bowl of dates clattering to the floor. He lined up the usual 'get thee behind me, demon' speech in his head, but the realization that Crowley had just asked him for help suddenly collided with his mouthful of fruit, resulting in the far less impressive "GEHTHHH... bg... wha?"
"Favor, angel!" Crowley repeated, looking somewhat harried. "I need you to do something for me."
"And why would I do anything for you?" asked Aziraphale, unsticking his jaws and straightening slowly, in the cautious way one moves when it becomes clear that one's conversational partner is out of his mind.
The demon's panic suddenly transmuted into an air that he liked to call 'casual smug'. He'd practiced. "Because," he said, grinning like the snake that had eaten the cat who'd gotten into the cream, "I have the original copy of Herodotus' Histories. In his own handwriting. With the wine stain on page 56."
Aziraphale's eyes were satisfyingly round. "How… no, why would you have that?"
"In case I ever needed a favor from you."
"You've held onto a book for four hundred years in case you ever needed to bribe me?" the angel summarized, unsurprised. "You're insufferable."
"I know. So will you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Be my slave."
A flat glare. "No."
"But…"
"No, Crowley. Go away."
"Histories…"
Aziraphale closed his eyes. Damn the serpent (again) and damn his evil temptations. But you can't really tempt an angel, right? Since they have no free will? And really, someone has to think of the books…
He sighed. "What exactly will this entail?" he asked, not sure he wanted the answer.
Crowley told him.
"No."
"C'mon, it's only for a couple of hours. And no one will know it's you."
The angel rubbed the bridge of his nose as if he were trying to develop a headache. "Why don't you just buy a slave? I know you can afford it."
Crowley's expression went through disgust followed by horror and came out the other side looking rather comical. Aziraphale pressed his lips together trying to look thoughtful, but he ended up looking more constipated than anything else. Together they made a ridiculous tableau.
Eventually Crowley just said, "Don't be crude."
"I didn't know you cared about them so much."
"And don't be stupid either," Crowley grimaced. "Having slaves is like having rats. They get into everything and eat a lot. A demon needs his privacy." He grinned slowly. "You'll understand, I'm sure..." It was a deeply suggestive ellipsis.
The angel refused to acknowledge the promise inherent in any way. "So you're saying that you don't trust them."
"Exactly."
It logically followed then, that by asking Aziraphale for help, Crowley was saying that he did trust Aziraphale, at least to some extent. The angel thought about this, but decided it was better not to mention it. "All right," he said eventually.
Crowley's eyes lit up. "You'll do it?"
"Yes."
The demon smirked. The angel hid his worry.
"Good. Meet me at the Thermae Agrippae after lunch tomorrow." With a smarmy wave, Crowley left.
"Knock next time," Aziraphale called after him.
-
Crowley was already holding court in the largest of the warm baths with a number of government types when Aziraphale walked in. Fortunately no one saw the demon's jaw drop* as they, too, had all turned to stare in awe at the stunning young man moving shyly toward the pool.
Without taking his eyes off the angel, Titus Labienus leaned over to Crowley and said, "I'll give you two thousand denarii for that boy."
Looking somewhat surprised at the offer - the going rate was only five hundred - Crowley murmured bemusedly back, "He's not for sale."
Aziraphale picked his way carefully around the bath to bend down next to Crowley. Twenty-one eyes (Cnaeus had had that little problem) slid over his backside. Flushing, the angel quickly knelt instead. "I've brought your oil and strigil, master," said Aziraphale in a soft, husky voice. He was certain that someone groaned. Then, in ancient Babylonian so that only Crowley would understand, the angel added, "This is humiliating. They're all looking at me. And I'm inciting lust, of all things."
"That's the point," said Crowley, "Keep their attention. Distract them. You look ridiculous enough." Switching back to Latin, he said, "Well done, Athanas. Stay here and attend me."
"Yes, master," Aziraphale replied, playing his part even though his eyes plainly said that the demon would come to regret this some day.
-
For an hour or so, the angel watched, impressed against his will at how Crowley handled his work. It was infinitely subtle, unless you knew what you were looking for. The demon never once spoke out against Caesar, but was kindly sympathetic to everyone's complaints about the emperor in a way Aziraphale hadn't thought him capable of being. He'd never seen the demon so... nice. It was unnerving, like having a shark smile at you.
By the end of it, the humans had all talked themselves into opposing Caesar, convinced of Crowley's support though it had never really been offered. Aziraphale couldn't do anything about that; he'd promised not to interfere. But he did learn some of Crowley's plans and methodology, which proved to be quite educational and would make it easier to oppose the demon in the future.
As the meeting devolved from the serious topic of civil war into more social conversation, Aziraphale approached the pool again, the demon's towel in hand. As he bent over to hand it to Crowley, someone's hand started sliding up the back of his thigh. He squeaked and stumbled, falling right into the bath.
Before he had the faintest idea of what to do, Crowley pulled him out of the water and began kissing him thoroughly. Without thinking, the angel kissed back, stunned and trying not to inhale bath water. There was a disappointed sigh around the tub from twenty-one lips. (Cnaeus again.)
Spluttering, Aziraphale started to say, "What..."
"Shut up, angel. I'm preserving your virtue."
"You have a funny way of doing it."
Crowley just kissed him again. Then, easily lifting Aziraphale's currently teenaged body out of the water, the demon began to carry him to one of the oiling rooms. Looking back over his shoulder at the men in the bath, Crowley said, "Excuse me a moment, gentlemen..." And a series of conspiratorial leers followed them out.
As soon as Crowley set Aziraphale down inside the private room, the angel swiveled to glare at him.
"Now what was that about?" he demanded, hands firmly on hips.
The demon sighed. "If I hadn't shown them that you were more than just my slave, you'd have had two, maybe three of them follow you home. I trust I don't have to explain further."
Aziraphale looked shocked. "But I'm yours. They wouldn't try anything for fear of angering you. Right?"
"Slaves are fair game unless specifically stated otherwise. That was specifically stating otherwise." After a long, tense silence, Crowley stepped very near to Aziraphale and said, "But for the record..."
"Yes?" asked Aziraphale, unaccountably nervous.
"You're a lousy kisser."
The angel colored. "I should hope so!"
"I mean, really terrible. That was probably the worst kiss I've had in four thousand years..."
"Yes, that's enough, thank you," came the cross response.
-
2,000 Some Odd Years Later
The phone rang shrilly in the quiet of early morning. Crowley blinked sleepily as he answered.
"Yeah?"
"Crowley, come quickly. I need a favor!"
"You… wha?"
"Favor, my dear!" Aziraphale repeated, sounding somewhat harried. "I need you to do something for me."
"And why would I do anything for you?"
"Because we have an Arrangement," said Aziraphale before ringing off. It was a good reason; it saved a lot of arguments in the long run.
Grumbling, the demon crawled out of bed, dressed, and made it to Aziraphale's shop in good time, tarrying only the amount of time it took to nearly hit three nuns and a small dog. (He'd been aiming for the dog, but he took points for the nuns, who wobbled and went down like bowling pins.)
The bells jingled cheerfully as he opened the door to the little bookshop in Soho and stepped inside. Crowley only had a moment to take in the woman standing at the counter before he found himself with an armful of angel, who was suddenly kissing him enthusiastically. Dazed, he kissed back as heels tapped hastily across the warped wooden floor, and the door slammed in a tangle of bells. Aziraphale stopped abruptly, pulling back to glance out the dusty window.
"What..."
"Hush," said Aziraphale, fixing Crowley's rumpled collar. "I'm preserving my virtue."
"You have a funny way of doing it..."
Aziraphale just kissed him again - thankfully, on the cheek.
"Now what was that about?" demanded Crowley.
"I'm afraid Sophia rather fancies me, the poor girl, and just wouldn't take no for an answer. Sometimes one must be cruel to be kind."
The demon's glare could have cut through a tin can and still sliced a tomato afterward. "You're still a crappy kisser," he muttered.
"I should say so," the angel replied calmly. "It was only my second. May I make up for your terribly traumatic experience somehow?"
Crowley stared for a moment, then shrugged. It didn't matter. "Sure thing. I'll cash in my favor in the early 4000s."
Aziraphale smiled. "Till then, lunch?"
"You're paying."
"Of course."
The angel flipped his sign to read 'Closed - Please do not call again'.
-
*And dislocate. It was a snake thing.
Happy Holidays, such_heights, from your Secret Writer!