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chineseinkChristmas Drabbles 2005
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ainbthen
Pairing: Crowley/Aziraphale [Good Omens]
Theme: wings
I’ll Be There
Aziraphale swayed and Crowley caught him by the arms. “Bugger it all,” he muttered. “Never figured I would be the sober one. Snap out of it, angel.” He shook Aziraphale lightly and decided that that had been a poor decision when the angel’s complexion paled and looked faintly green. Pale green? Crowley wondered and then shook his head, freeing one hand to snap at the door.
It unlocked without the bothersome things known as keys and Crowley dragged Aziraphale into his flat. “Would you please get that damned alcohol out of your system?” he asked the angel, exasperated. How the situation had ended up like this was beyond him. A customary lunch at the Ritz, a couple bottles of wine—nothing out of the ordinary and nothing they hadn’t done before. Just a nice little buzz in their head, pleasant and dulling the sharp sounds of the world, until Aziraphale had insisted, as always, that they purge themselves so Crowley could drive safely.
So Crowley, complaining, had done so, just like every other time, even though he was sure his Bentley would’ve delivered them both safely to their respective homes without his active participation. But the angel didn’t like that. So, like tradition, he’d cleared the alcohol out of his system and had slid behind the wheel, expecting Aziraphale to slip primly into the passenger’s seat, clear-headed and ready to scold Crowley for his reckless driving.
Instead, he’d gotten a completely plastered Aziraphale giggling and bumping into his shoulder every time the Bentley turned a corner, boneless and hiccupping.
Crowley didn’t know what was wrong with the angel. Frankly, it was sort of unfair. How come Aziraphale got to stay drunk? Though more interesting was why he persisted in it… Aziraphale liked the occasional venture into tipsiness as much as Crowley did (okay, maybe not, but few creatures enjoyed it like Crowley did) but always for a limited amount of time, because he was just so damned proper that way.
“Stay put,” Crowley told Aziraphale as he deposited him on Crowley’s mostly unused living room sofa. Aziraphale beamed at him, face flushed, and hiccupped. “Honestly, angel,” Crowley said, making his way into the kitchen to get a glass of water. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you. Someone might think you’ve gone funny in the head. You know,” he gave up on looking for a glass and just snapped again (Aziraphale was far too drunk to be reprimanding him, anyway), turning back to the living room, “the big guys upstairs aren’t going to be too happy with you. Going against some of their—“ He stopped mid-sentence and stared.
Large white wings arced toward his flat’s ceiling, rustling in the still air, feathers curling and a lone one drifting to the floor. Crowley’s slit eyes followed the graceful line of those wings—when was the last time he’d seen them? he wondered distractedly—to Aziraphale’s pale back, exposed by his ripped shirt, now in shreds.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, at a loss for words.
Aziraphale grinned happily at him, wings shifting and knocking a houseplant off its precarious balance on a nearby shelf. “’S pretty, isnit?” he exclaimed.
Crowley could feel a migraine coming on. He wished he could just snap, literally, the angel out of his drunken stupor but that would be overstepping a Line. Their Arrangement didn’t allow for things like that. He’d have to make sure to have a nice, long chat with Aziraphale about changing that. Once he got him back to normal. Crowley had a feeling that he wouldn’t be wanting a drink in a long, long time.
--
Posted: 12.23.2005
For:
ainbthenPairing: Crowley/Aziraphale [Good Omens]
Theme: wings
I’ll Be There
Aziraphale swayed and Crowley caught him by the arms. “Bugger it all,” he muttered. “Never figured I would be the sober one. Snap out of it, angel.” He shook Aziraphale lightly and decided that that had been a poor decision when the angel’s complexion paled and looked faintly green. Pale green? Crowley wondered and then shook his head, freeing one hand to snap at the door.
It unlocked without the bothersome things known as keys and Crowley dragged Aziraphale into his flat. “Would you please get that damned alcohol out of your system?” he asked the angel, exasperated. How the situation had ended up like this was beyond him. A customary lunch at the Ritz, a couple bottles of wine—nothing out of the ordinary and nothing they hadn’t done before. Just a nice little buzz in their head, pleasant and dulling the sharp sounds of the world, until Aziraphale had insisted, as always, that they purge themselves so Crowley could drive safely.
So Crowley, complaining, had done so, just like every other time, even though he was sure his Bentley would’ve delivered them both safely to their respective homes without his active participation. But the angel didn’t like that. So, like tradition, he’d cleared the alcohol out of his system and had slid behind the wheel, expecting Aziraphale to slip primly into the passenger’s seat, clear-headed and ready to scold Crowley for his reckless driving.
Instead, he’d gotten a completely plastered Aziraphale giggling and bumping into his shoulder every time the Bentley turned a corner, boneless and hiccupping.
Crowley didn’t know what was wrong with the angel. Frankly, it was sort of unfair. How come Aziraphale got to stay drunk? Though more interesting was why he persisted in it… Aziraphale liked the occasional venture into tipsiness as much as Crowley did (okay, maybe not, but few creatures enjoyed it like Crowley did) but always for a limited amount of time, because he was just so damned proper that way.
“Stay put,” Crowley told Aziraphale as he deposited him on Crowley’s mostly unused living room sofa. Aziraphale beamed at him, face flushed, and hiccupped. “Honestly, angel,” Crowley said, making his way into the kitchen to get a glass of water. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you. Someone might think you’ve gone funny in the head. You know,” he gave up on looking for a glass and just snapped again (Aziraphale was far too drunk to be reprimanding him, anyway), turning back to the living room, “the big guys upstairs aren’t going to be too happy with you. Going against some of their—“ He stopped mid-sentence and stared.
Large white wings arced toward his flat’s ceiling, rustling in the still air, feathers curling and a lone one drifting to the floor. Crowley’s slit eyes followed the graceful line of those wings—when was the last time he’d seen them? he wondered distractedly—to Aziraphale’s pale back, exposed by his ripped shirt, now in shreds.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, at a loss for words.
Aziraphale grinned happily at him, wings shifting and knocking a houseplant off its precarious balance on a nearby shelf. “’S pretty, isnit?” he exclaimed.
Crowley could feel a migraine coming on. He wished he could just snap, literally, the angel out of his drunken stupor but that would be overstepping a Line. Their Arrangement didn’t allow for things like that. He’d have to make sure to have a nice, long chat with Aziraphale about changing that. Once he got him back to normal. Crowley had a feeling that he wouldn’t be wanting a drink in a long, long time.
--
Posted: 12.23.2005
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