For the later poets, Eros was almost invariably a mischievous, naughty boy, or worse.
Companion to Debauchery. Also, third request response, for aura218, who said:
I'm a always up for an A/C Remus/Sirius crossover … And I'll kiss you a lot if you make it AU and rescue Sirius from prison and/or death.
Well, Sam did the rescuing, I’m just capitalizing on his success :)
Thanks to copperbadge for letting me play in his Stealing Harry/Laocoon's Children universe for a little bit.
Flamboyant
Unfortunately, extricating one’s self is always an ordeal.
Crowley knew that perhaps better than most. Of course, there had been situations more dire than this, but everything seems worse when one is actually going through it. The demon thrashed against the coiled sheets, which had been cool cotton last night but were now staticky and flannel. It was Aziraphale’s unconscious doing; that was the only way the angel had ever slept on the rare occasions that he tried the pastime, and he expected the feel of that particular fabric caccooning him whenever he closed his lids. The available materials invariably complied with no little surprise.
After several infuriating minutes of half-awake tumbling and grunting, Crowley rolled off the bed and onto the floor, naked and pale in the early afternoon light. By the time he rose, a pair of black silk boxers clung to his hips. He blinked and the bed was made, sheets Egyptian cotton in a masculine shade of blue. It was good.
Crowley padded into the kitchen. He was very carefully not noting the conspicuous lack of angel in his flat, and very carefully not being bothered by it. He poured himself a mug of hot gourmet coffee. The beans would have been startled to find themselves ground and brewed when a few seconds ago they weren’t, if they hadn’t seen it happen to their neighbours countless times before. Crowley was not patient with his beverages. Some of his appliances, such as the percolator and the complicated corkscrew, feared him as much as his houseplants.
He found a note on the counter, written on the creamy stationary paper from the set in his bedroom.
Dear boy,
Ever so sorry to leave you this morning. Getting late, am expecting an important customer. Lovely coffee. Do tell me where you find it. We’ll have some together at my shop next time-in the morning, of course, if you can wake up for it.
Yrs,
A
Crowley looked at the sleek, modern clock on the wall. It had no numbers (just wedge-shaped tick-marks) but the hands were pointing to where two-thirty would have been on a less fashionable timepiece.
It would be utterly pathetic to leave right now and drive to Aziraphale’s shop. Pathetic and predictable. Crowley resented the fact that Aziraphale had got up and left him all alone in bed before Crowley had had the chance to get up and leave Aziraphale all alone in bed. He resented the fact that their wine was still sitting in two glasses and an open bottle on the coffee table, untasted and probably stale by now.
He resented his houseplants for being so green in the brilliant sunlight. He glared at them and they trembled; a potted African violet tried to hide behind its neighbour. He resented the doors to the closets and the drawers that he had to open to fetch the rest of his clothes. He resented his leather jacket as he flung it around his shoulders and, when he stalked through his bedroom one last time, he saw a third white feather stuck in the steel pencil holder and he practically fumed.
He was just going for a little drive about, terrorise some pedestrians, harass a few traffic officers, run a red light or two, the usual. Fifteen minutes later, when he pulled up at Aziraphale’s shop, the sign in the door read CLOSED and voices drifted out from within.
Two voices. One of them was unfamiliar.
Crowley was furious. He was the only one allowed to enter Aziraphale’s shop when the sign read CLOSED. It was an unspoken rule in Crowley’s mind up until now. Crowley burst into the shop and strode to the backroom, where two figures were seated, apparently conversing amiably. That is, until he appeared, leaning in the doorway. Aziraphale gaped at him. The other man-no, not a man, the other individual-seemed surprised as well, but he didn’t comment.
“Didn’t tell me you were having company, Fell. You said it was just a customer.”
“Remus is a customer, Crowley. Er, well, he was one. Or I was one; actually, I bought a book from him a long time ago. Anyway, I didn’t expect you-I thought you’d be by later, much later. Remus and I have been catching up. Please do join us.”
The other individual smiled mildly up at Crowley. It was a broad, warm smile, not obnoxiously friendly, and showing very little of his teeth. A few thin, faded scars traced across his face and hands, disappearing under the edges of his clothing. He was neatly and simply dressed in shirtsleeves and a brown waistcoat and trousers. His jacket hung off the back of his chair. He rose when Aziraphale did. A faint look of recognition fled across the stranger’s face, but it hid somewhere behind his left temple and refused to come out again. If they had met in the past, the stranger probably considered it best to pretend it had never happened.
“Crowley, meet Remus Lupin, a-an old friend. He ran Sandust books for Sirius Black, before that horrible accident. I haven’t seen him in several years.”
Crowley looked into the Lupin-individual’s eyes over the top of his sunglasses. The demon leaned in and sniffed the air lightly, just for effect.
“Wizard. Werewolf,” he stated dryly.
The Lupin-individual turned a shade paler, but to his credit his smile barely faltered, and only one eyebrow raised itself in surprise or defiance.
“Remus, this is Anthony Crowley,” continued Aziraphale, unflappably. “Crowley is from Hell.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Lupin, offering a hand and trying valiantly to grin at Aziraphale’s joke. Crowley grasped Lupin’s hand and hissed,
“I’m sure.”
Aziraphale bustled around them, searching for an extra chair, fixing more tea, and generally fussing. Eventually, he presented Crowley with an apologetic smile and an exceedingly dusty three-legged stool from the front shop. Crowley sat with his knees wide apart and elbows resting on his thighs, slouched and distressingly casual. Lupin sat again at the other side of the table.
“So,” drawled Crowley, “Fell has you thinking we’re both wizards too, I suspect.”
The angel set down the teapot in the centre of the table with perhaps a little extra force.
“Of course,” Aziraphale said, tightly. “Whatever else would he be lead to think?”
Crowley simply smirked and took off his sunglasses, folding them carefully before resting them on the table. He sat up straighter so that Lupin could more easily see his face.
Aziraphale spoke quickly to cover the situation before either of the others could interject.
“As you can see, Mr. Crowley has the most remarkable eyes.”
“Yes, I had observed them somewhat earlier.”
An uncomfortable silence settled. Crowley did nothing to shift it.
“A-er, a transformation went a bit awry some time ago,” explained Aziraphale, a bit desperately.
“Yesss,” cut in Crowley, “An accident. Long, long time ago. Funny how these transformations can leave signs behind, isn’t it? Little pieces that just haunt you.”
“So, Remus,” squeaked Aziraphale, “How is Sirius getting on? And Harry?”
“Harry’s just off to school. He’s very excited. He’s made a few friends already, and he’s been Sorted into Slytherin.”
“Well, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything about his moral character,” cooed Aziraphale. “He’s in good hands.”
Lupin nodded in agreement as if it was something he had heard a lot recently and was tired of addressing. Crowley chuckled, a soft hissing laugh.
“Sirius,” Lupin continued, a suddenly mischievous glint appearing in his eyes, “Sirius-well, you’ve seen The Daily Prophet, haven’t you?”
“Er-refresh my memory, if you would, I’m sure.”
“They’re expecting half the bachelorettes of the Wizarding world to accost him at any time now. His return to society as an apparently unattached man has been hailed as a triumph and an opportunity for single witches everywhere.”
“Oh, dear.”
“How does that make you feel, Mister Lupin?” asked Crowley, sweetly.
“I’m sure it matters more to Mister Black,” Lupin countered smoothly.
“Now then,” said Aziraphale, “Would anyone like some biscuits? I think I may have some in a tin-”
“If they’re the same ones as last time, they’re perfectly sinful,” quipped Crowley. Aziraphale got up and began rooting about for the tin.
“How long have you and Mr. Fell known each other?” asked Lupin pleasantly.
“Oh, a very long time. A very, very long time,” replied Crowley. “But we’ve only been together since terribly recently.”
Aziraphale dropped the tin he had just found.
“Do you have things under control over there, Fell?” continued Crowley.
“Yes, yes. Here we are,” said Aziraphale, placing an arrangement of chocolate biscuits on a plate next to the tea pot. “Do help yourselves.”
“Thank you,” said Lupin, taking one.
Crowley stared unblinkingly at Lupin as he ate. Lupin took only one biscuit. He sipped his tea once more before rising.
“It’s been very nice seeing you again, Zirah,” said Lupin. “And pleasant meeting you, Mister Crowley.”
“Mutual,” said Crowley. He didn’t stand up. Aziraphale saw Lupin to the door.
When he returned, the angel’s face was pale and his eyes flinty.
“You made a guest of mine very uncomfortable,” he said in measured tones.
“Funny, because I don’t like waking up in flannel,” replied Crowley.
“This has nothing to do with that.”
“I was just stopping by.”
Aziraphale dropped into his seat and crossed his arms.
“Why must you be so-so peevish sometimes? You’re like a little child. I can’t let you around company, you don’t know how to act.”
“That Lupin. He seemed familiar.”
“I’ve known him for quite some time. I told you, he’s a fellow bookshop own--Er, manager. You know.”
“And all bookshop managers know each other.”
“We have some similar tastes.”
“I think I remember him hanging around here quite frequently a few years ago. Yes, that was the same one.”
“We’re friends.”
“Whatever you say, angel.”
“Look, shall I put on another pot of tea?”
“I still have some wine at my place. Other wine, that hasn’t been left sitting opened all night in my living room.”
“I don’t really feel like getting into all that again tonight, Crowley. You should know better.”
“I think you should have known better than to come over last night.”
Aziraphale looked at Crowley, shocked.
“Dear boy, whatever are you arguing about, anyway?”
Crowley shifted grumpily, making his leather coat crackle and rustle.
“Is it that I left this morning?”
Crowley made no response.
“I thought of waking you, but you were sleeping so peacefully.”
Crowley thought of Aziraphale’s skin, warm and soft under his fingertips. He thought of Aziraphale’s taste.
“I did leave a note. And I couldn’t lie in all day-I was expecting a visitor.”
Crowley thought of holding Aziraphale and touching him, and kissing him upon the lips, upon his skin. Crowley thought of the sounds Aziraphale could make.
“And I wanted to lie in. Really. But I couldn’t cancel the appointment on such short notice, there wasn’t any way to.”
Crowley shrugged silently. He rose, then sat down in the chair Lupin had occupied not long ago. He nearly brushed away a few chocolate crumbs, then thought better of it.
“’M sick of tea,” he said, child-like unspoken apology clouding his petulance. “What do you say to dinner? The Bentley’s out front.”
“Naturally,” replied Aziraphale.
I'm a always up for an A/C Remus/Sirius crossover … And I'll kiss you a lot if you make it AU and rescue Sirius from prison and/or death.
Well, Sam did the rescuing, I’m just capitalizing on his success :)
Thanks to copperbadge for letting me play in his Stealing Harry/Laocoon's Children universe for a little bit.
Flamboyant
Unfortunately, extricating one’s self is always an ordeal.
Crowley knew that perhaps better than most. Of course, there had been situations more dire than this, but everything seems worse when one is actually going through it. The demon thrashed against the coiled sheets, which had been cool cotton last night but were now staticky and flannel. It was Aziraphale’s unconscious doing; that was the only way the angel had ever slept on the rare occasions that he tried the pastime, and he expected the feel of that particular fabric caccooning him whenever he closed his lids. The available materials invariably complied with no little surprise.
After several infuriating minutes of half-awake tumbling and grunting, Crowley rolled off the bed and onto the floor, naked and pale in the early afternoon light. By the time he rose, a pair of black silk boxers clung to his hips. He blinked and the bed was made, sheets Egyptian cotton in a masculine shade of blue. It was good.
Crowley padded into the kitchen. He was very carefully not noting the conspicuous lack of angel in his flat, and very carefully not being bothered by it. He poured himself a mug of hot gourmet coffee. The beans would have been startled to find themselves ground and brewed when a few seconds ago they weren’t, if they hadn’t seen it happen to their neighbours countless times before. Crowley was not patient with his beverages. Some of his appliances, such as the percolator and the complicated corkscrew, feared him as much as his houseplants.
He found a note on the counter, written on the creamy stationary paper from the set in his bedroom.
Dear boy,
Ever so sorry to leave you this morning. Getting late, am expecting an important customer. Lovely coffee. Do tell me where you find it. We’ll have some together at my shop next time-in the morning, of course, if you can wake up for it.
Yrs,
A
Crowley looked at the sleek, modern clock on the wall. It had no numbers (just wedge-shaped tick-marks) but the hands were pointing to where two-thirty would have been on a less fashionable timepiece.
It would be utterly pathetic to leave right now and drive to Aziraphale’s shop. Pathetic and predictable. Crowley resented the fact that Aziraphale had got up and left him all alone in bed before Crowley had had the chance to get up and leave Aziraphale all alone in bed. He resented the fact that their wine was still sitting in two glasses and an open bottle on the coffee table, untasted and probably stale by now.
He resented his houseplants for being so green in the brilliant sunlight. He glared at them and they trembled; a potted African violet tried to hide behind its neighbour. He resented the doors to the closets and the drawers that he had to open to fetch the rest of his clothes. He resented his leather jacket as he flung it around his shoulders and, when he stalked through his bedroom one last time, he saw a third white feather stuck in the steel pencil holder and he practically fumed.
He was just going for a little drive about, terrorise some pedestrians, harass a few traffic officers, run a red light or two, the usual. Fifteen minutes later, when he pulled up at Aziraphale’s shop, the sign in the door read CLOSED and voices drifted out from within.
Two voices. One of them was unfamiliar.
Crowley was furious. He was the only one allowed to enter Aziraphale’s shop when the sign read CLOSED. It was an unspoken rule in Crowley’s mind up until now. Crowley burst into the shop and strode to the backroom, where two figures were seated, apparently conversing amiably. That is, until he appeared, leaning in the doorway. Aziraphale gaped at him. The other man-no, not a man, the other individual-seemed surprised as well, but he didn’t comment.
“Didn’t tell me you were having company, Fell. You said it was just a customer.”
“Remus is a customer, Crowley. Er, well, he was one. Or I was one; actually, I bought a book from him a long time ago. Anyway, I didn’t expect you-I thought you’d be by later, much later. Remus and I have been catching up. Please do join us.”
The other individual smiled mildly up at Crowley. It was a broad, warm smile, not obnoxiously friendly, and showing very little of his teeth. A few thin, faded scars traced across his face and hands, disappearing under the edges of his clothing. He was neatly and simply dressed in shirtsleeves and a brown waistcoat and trousers. His jacket hung off the back of his chair. He rose when Aziraphale did. A faint look of recognition fled across the stranger’s face, but it hid somewhere behind his left temple and refused to come out again. If they had met in the past, the stranger probably considered it best to pretend it had never happened.
“Crowley, meet Remus Lupin, a-an old friend. He ran Sandust books for Sirius Black, before that horrible accident. I haven’t seen him in several years.”
Crowley looked into the Lupin-individual’s eyes over the top of his sunglasses. The demon leaned in and sniffed the air lightly, just for effect.
“Wizard. Werewolf,” he stated dryly.
The Lupin-individual turned a shade paler, but to his credit his smile barely faltered, and only one eyebrow raised itself in surprise or defiance.
“Remus, this is Anthony Crowley,” continued Aziraphale, unflappably. “Crowley is from Hell.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Lupin, offering a hand and trying valiantly to grin at Aziraphale’s joke. Crowley grasped Lupin’s hand and hissed,
“I’m sure.”
Aziraphale bustled around them, searching for an extra chair, fixing more tea, and generally fussing. Eventually, he presented Crowley with an apologetic smile and an exceedingly dusty three-legged stool from the front shop. Crowley sat with his knees wide apart and elbows resting on his thighs, slouched and distressingly casual. Lupin sat again at the other side of the table.
“So,” drawled Crowley, “Fell has you thinking we’re both wizards too, I suspect.”
The angel set down the teapot in the centre of the table with perhaps a little extra force.
“Of course,” Aziraphale said, tightly. “Whatever else would he be lead to think?”
Crowley simply smirked and took off his sunglasses, folding them carefully before resting them on the table. He sat up straighter so that Lupin could more easily see his face.
Aziraphale spoke quickly to cover the situation before either of the others could interject.
“As you can see, Mr. Crowley has the most remarkable eyes.”
“Yes, I had observed them somewhat earlier.”
An uncomfortable silence settled. Crowley did nothing to shift it.
“A-er, a transformation went a bit awry some time ago,” explained Aziraphale, a bit desperately.
“Yesss,” cut in Crowley, “An accident. Long, long time ago. Funny how these transformations can leave signs behind, isn’t it? Little pieces that just haunt you.”
“So, Remus,” squeaked Aziraphale, “How is Sirius getting on? And Harry?”
“Harry’s just off to school. He’s very excited. He’s made a few friends already, and he’s been Sorted into Slytherin.”
“Well, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything about his moral character,” cooed Aziraphale. “He’s in good hands.”
Lupin nodded in agreement as if it was something he had heard a lot recently and was tired of addressing. Crowley chuckled, a soft hissing laugh.
“Sirius,” Lupin continued, a suddenly mischievous glint appearing in his eyes, “Sirius-well, you’ve seen The Daily Prophet, haven’t you?”
“Er-refresh my memory, if you would, I’m sure.”
“They’re expecting half the bachelorettes of the Wizarding world to accost him at any time now. His return to society as an apparently unattached man has been hailed as a triumph and an opportunity for single witches everywhere.”
“Oh, dear.”
“How does that make you feel, Mister Lupin?” asked Crowley, sweetly.
“I’m sure it matters more to Mister Black,” Lupin countered smoothly.
“Now then,” said Aziraphale, “Would anyone like some biscuits? I think I may have some in a tin-”
“If they’re the same ones as last time, they’re perfectly sinful,” quipped Crowley. Aziraphale got up and began rooting about for the tin.
“How long have you and Mr. Fell known each other?” asked Lupin pleasantly.
“Oh, a very long time. A very, very long time,” replied Crowley. “But we’ve only been together since terribly recently.”
Aziraphale dropped the tin he had just found.
“Do you have things under control over there, Fell?” continued Crowley.
“Yes, yes. Here we are,” said Aziraphale, placing an arrangement of chocolate biscuits on a plate next to the tea pot. “Do help yourselves.”
“Thank you,” said Lupin, taking one.
Crowley stared unblinkingly at Lupin as he ate. Lupin took only one biscuit. He sipped his tea once more before rising.
“It’s been very nice seeing you again, Zirah,” said Lupin. “And pleasant meeting you, Mister Crowley.”
“Mutual,” said Crowley. He didn’t stand up. Aziraphale saw Lupin to the door.
When he returned, the angel’s face was pale and his eyes flinty.
“You made a guest of mine very uncomfortable,” he said in measured tones.
“Funny, because I don’t like waking up in flannel,” replied Crowley.
“This has nothing to do with that.”
“I was just stopping by.”
Aziraphale dropped into his seat and crossed his arms.
“Why must you be so-so peevish sometimes? You’re like a little child. I can’t let you around company, you don’t know how to act.”
“That Lupin. He seemed familiar.”
“I’ve known him for quite some time. I told you, he’s a fellow bookshop own--Er, manager. You know.”
“And all bookshop managers know each other.”
“We have some similar tastes.”
“I think I remember him hanging around here quite frequently a few years ago. Yes, that was the same one.”
“We’re friends.”
“Whatever you say, angel.”
“Look, shall I put on another pot of tea?”
“I still have some wine at my place. Other wine, that hasn’t been left sitting opened all night in my living room.”
“I don’t really feel like getting into all that again tonight, Crowley. You should know better.”
“I think you should have known better than to come over last night.”
Aziraphale looked at Crowley, shocked.
“Dear boy, whatever are you arguing about, anyway?”
Crowley shifted grumpily, making his leather coat crackle and rustle.
“Is it that I left this morning?”
Crowley made no response.
“I thought of waking you, but you were sleeping so peacefully.”
Crowley thought of Aziraphale’s skin, warm and soft under his fingertips. He thought of Aziraphale’s taste.
“I did leave a note. And I couldn’t lie in all day-I was expecting a visitor.”
Crowley thought of holding Aziraphale and touching him, and kissing him upon the lips, upon his skin. Crowley thought of the sounds Aziraphale could make.
“And I wanted to lie in. Really. But I couldn’t cancel the appointment on such short notice, there wasn’t any way to.”
Crowley shrugged silently. He rose, then sat down in the chair Lupin had occupied not long ago. He nearly brushed away a few chocolate crumbs, then thought better of it.
“’M sick of tea,” he said, child-like unspoken apology clouding his petulance. “What do you say to dinner? The Bentley’s out front.”
“Naturally,” replied Aziraphale.