sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-06 01:09 pm
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-06 01:09 pm
Entry tags:
Corrupted File. PG-13, Good Omens.
This was coauthored by myself and ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
villainny some time ago.
Summary: Aziraphael knew better than to go drinking with Crowley.
Warnings: None
***
Aziraphael knew better than this.
He did. He knew better than to go drinking with Crowley. It never came to any good. Of course he never got hangovers, but all the same it was nothing but Trouble. It deserved the capital letter.
"How is this going to help me with the book-keeping again?" he asked, after the second bottle of wine. The screen of Crowley's laptop glowed pleasantly.
"It's all.......databases," Crowley asserted. "Look, I did say that computers didn't make any sense unless you were drunk."
Aziraphael stared at the warmly lit screen. "What's a database then? And how's a computer going to keep me from selling books?"
Crowley smirked. "You just tell your patrons 'it's a technology problem. I'll have to sell this to you tomorrow.' They'll never know."
"And I take it this...technology...I take it this supercedes itself often enough to make such a problem feasible? You do know how I hate telling lies, my dear. I'd really rather not face such problems, if at all possible."
For a moment, the angel looked positively devious, but he managed to convert it to faintly confused before anyone was paying too much attention.
Crowley knew that look. It was the look of a lawyer who has somehow gotten round the legal system. The look of an angel who knew he could lie, but only because he'd spend the last six thousand years in more or less continual contact with a demon.
He was about to speak when a customer interrupted.
"I'D LIKE TO BUY THIS BOOK," he shouted, or at least it seemed that way to Crowley's wine-dulled ears.
Aziraphael looked horrified. "They're ALREADY trying!" he cried.
The demon smirked. "That's your cue."
Aziraphael looked at him, unnerved by the look of satisfaction on Crowley's face.
"You're sure? I mean, Wodehouse, rather interchangeable. You're sure you haven't read it?" Crowley's unconscionable sniggering in the background was most unhelpful. He scowled at the customer, still determined to buy his book, and poked keys on Crowley's 'key-board' at random.
"I'm... oh dear, I'm terribly sorry. I think the system's down."
The customer was not to be deterred. "Couldn't you jot down the title and take my money anyway?" he asked.
Aziraphael shot Crowley a frightened-mouse look.
"He wants to give me money!" he hissed.
Crowley took in the tidy young man holding the Wodehouse book.
"Shove off," he said succinctly.
"I beg your pardon?" said the young man, confused.
"Shove off, he's mine," Crowley repeated.
Aziraphael looked at Crowley, utterly bewildered, as the nattily dressed young man carefully placed the book on the counter and scurried out of the shop.
"What was that supposed to mean, my dear? You lay claim to the entire catalogue of published Wodehouse?"
"Yes! Wodehouse belongs to me exclusively," Crowley answered quickly. Aziraphale shot him a look. "What? You don't know that he doesn't."
"Wodehouse certainly doesn't. He's in our camp," Aziraphael said primly.
"Been checking up, have you? Is there a circular that goes around? Angel Annual? Heavenly Home Journal?"
"That one has lovely recipes," Aziraphael murmured.
Crowley let his head fall onto the table with a faint thump.
"You're completely irredeemable."
Azirapahel looked confused. "I'm sorry, what? Aren't I supposed to be redeeming you?"
Crowley looked at him for a long moment.
"What?"
"Well, I suppose it's a matter of opinion, but I'm fairly certain that redemption was specific to our side. I suppose you could call me incorruptible, but that would really only be a compliment, dear boy," Aziraphael said gently.
Crowley gazed at him, vaguely awestruck by his complete inability to grasp the situation.
"I meant -- nevermind," Crowley sighed.
There was a pause.
A thought hit him like a ton of angelic bricks.
"Redeeming me?" he asked. "Who said you were supposed to be redeeming me?"
The angel looked faintly abashed.
"To be honest, it's only on paper. I mean, they need some kind of rationale for my spending quite so much time with you, apart from 'good company'. And I'm not sure that our mutual love of The Adventures of Robin Hood would hold all that much water."
"Why not? It's a perfectly good film!" Crowley replied hotly. He'd caught a certain amount of flak from his own superiors about that one. "And popcorn is in no way at all angelic!" he added, firmly.
Aziraphael looked askance at this. "Is so," he argued. "It's a metaphor. You know. The hidden potential for fluffy deliciousness in every hard brown kernel."
This sounded specious, even to him.
"Anyway, I'm not sure this computer thing is quite in line with Heaven's doctrines," he said determinedly. "Inefficiency is not one of our strong suits!"
"No," said Crowley. "Your strong suit is the appearance of efficiency while really giving up and working it out with an almost dried up biro on the back of an envelope."
He grinned at Aziraphael's slightly dubious look, and took another sip of wine.
"S'true. Ask Michael some time."
"When have you been talking to Michael?" Aziraphael asked sharply. "Not for at least a thousand years, I'd wager."
Crowley smirked. "Which is about the last time he bought a new pen."
"That's not fair!"
"Computers, Angel! They're the wave of the future! Let me show you," Crowley said, crouching down next to Aziraphael's chair. He reached one arm around and tapped a button. The screen went black.
"Temporary setback!" Crowley announced. Aziraphael looked at him expectantly. "No, not really. Really that's just the screensaver. But you can CALL it that and your customers will have to leave without ever buying ANYTHING."
Crowley really was awfully close. It was one of those moments, which had been entirely too frequent, lately, in which Azirapahel spent far more time noticing the demon than noticing he was a demon. As it were.
"So...er...what was the button?"
"Button?" Crowley asked, vaguely, sunglasses reflecting back two sets of slightly distorted Aziraphaels. "Button for what?"
Aziraphael, distracted by the other hims, took the sunglasses off of Crowley's face.
"Button for.......not selling books to customers," he replied.
Crowley waved a hand. Aziraphael heard the front door lock snick shut.
"That one works," Crowley said throatily.
Aziraphael shifted uneasily in his chair.
"Now, Crowley, I can't go shutting the shop for no good reason, you know." He considered, for a moment, putting the sunglasses back on. Because yellow eyes were entirely more distracting than he'd bargained for.
"What about a very bad reason?" Crowley asked. A forked tongue flicked out across his lips for just a moment. "I could think of a few extremely wicked reasons to shut up the shop."
He leaned in closer, cocking his head sideways and up, grinning mischevously at Aziraphael from below. One of his hands slid from where it had rested innocently above Aziraphael's knee, down the inside of his leg and upwards.
"I'm sure you could come up with one or two if you really tried," he added.
Aziraphael shivered.
"I...well, I couldn't countenance exposing the innocent citizens of London -- " He was interrupted by Crowley's snort. "Oh hush. There's guaranteed to be at least one innocent -- "
His comment was swallowed by a swiftly indrawn breath as Crowley's hand slid higher.
"Not any more." The demon's voice was unutterably smug.
"Crowley!" Aziraphael said, looking shocked.
He did not, however, slap Crowley's hand away. In fact Crowley was almost sure he felt Aziraphael's hips slouch a little.
"I do ssso enjoy innocencssse," he hissed. The sibilance of it should have thrown up warning flags in Aziraphael's brain, but instead it inspired feelings of a rather different sort.
"This is not how divine redemption is supposed to go," he murmured, as Crowley's lips pressed against his.
"No, but debased corruption is so much more fun," Crowley whispered.
END
villainny some time ago. Summary: Aziraphael knew better than to go drinking with Crowley.
Warnings: None
***
Aziraphael knew better than this.
He did. He knew better than to go drinking with Crowley. It never came to any good. Of course he never got hangovers, but all the same it was nothing but Trouble. It deserved the capital letter.
"How is this going to help me with the book-keeping again?" he asked, after the second bottle of wine. The screen of Crowley's laptop glowed pleasantly.
"It's all.......databases," Crowley asserted. "Look, I did say that computers didn't make any sense unless you were drunk."
Aziraphael stared at the warmly lit screen. "What's a database then? And how's a computer going to keep me from selling books?"
Crowley smirked. "You just tell your patrons 'it's a technology problem. I'll have to sell this to you tomorrow.' They'll never know."
"And I take it this...technology...I take it this supercedes itself often enough to make such a problem feasible? You do know how I hate telling lies, my dear. I'd really rather not face such problems, if at all possible."
For a moment, the angel looked positively devious, but he managed to convert it to faintly confused before anyone was paying too much attention.
Crowley knew that look. It was the look of a lawyer who has somehow gotten round the legal system. The look of an angel who knew he could lie, but only because he'd spend the last six thousand years in more or less continual contact with a demon.
He was about to speak when a customer interrupted.
"I'D LIKE TO BUY THIS BOOK," he shouted, or at least it seemed that way to Crowley's wine-dulled ears.
Aziraphael looked horrified. "They're ALREADY trying!" he cried.
The demon smirked. "That's your cue."
Aziraphael looked at him, unnerved by the look of satisfaction on Crowley's face.
"You're sure? I mean, Wodehouse, rather interchangeable. You're sure you haven't read it?" Crowley's unconscionable sniggering in the background was most unhelpful. He scowled at the customer, still determined to buy his book, and poked keys on Crowley's 'key-board' at random.
"I'm... oh dear, I'm terribly sorry. I think the system's down."
The customer was not to be deterred. "Couldn't you jot down the title and take my money anyway?" he asked.
Aziraphael shot Crowley a frightened-mouse look.
"He wants to give me money!" he hissed.
Crowley took in the tidy young man holding the Wodehouse book.
"Shove off," he said succinctly.
"I beg your pardon?" said the young man, confused.
"Shove off, he's mine," Crowley repeated.
Aziraphael looked at Crowley, utterly bewildered, as the nattily dressed young man carefully placed the book on the counter and scurried out of the shop.
"What was that supposed to mean, my dear? You lay claim to the entire catalogue of published Wodehouse?"
"Yes! Wodehouse belongs to me exclusively," Crowley answered quickly. Aziraphale shot him a look. "What? You don't know that he doesn't."
"Wodehouse certainly doesn't. He's in our camp," Aziraphael said primly.
"Been checking up, have you? Is there a circular that goes around? Angel Annual? Heavenly Home Journal?"
"That one has lovely recipes," Aziraphael murmured.
Crowley let his head fall onto the table with a faint thump.
"You're completely irredeemable."
Azirapahel looked confused. "I'm sorry, what? Aren't I supposed to be redeeming you?"
Crowley looked at him for a long moment.
"What?"
"Well, I suppose it's a matter of opinion, but I'm fairly certain that redemption was specific to our side. I suppose you could call me incorruptible, but that would really only be a compliment, dear boy," Aziraphael said gently.
Crowley gazed at him, vaguely awestruck by his complete inability to grasp the situation.
"I meant -- nevermind," Crowley sighed.
There was a pause.
A thought hit him like a ton of angelic bricks.
"Redeeming me?" he asked. "Who said you were supposed to be redeeming me?"
The angel looked faintly abashed.
"To be honest, it's only on paper. I mean, they need some kind of rationale for my spending quite so much time with you, apart from 'good company'. And I'm not sure that our mutual love of The Adventures of Robin Hood would hold all that much water."
"Why not? It's a perfectly good film!" Crowley replied hotly. He'd caught a certain amount of flak from his own superiors about that one. "And popcorn is in no way at all angelic!" he added, firmly.
Aziraphael looked askance at this. "Is so," he argued. "It's a metaphor. You know. The hidden potential for fluffy deliciousness in every hard brown kernel."
This sounded specious, even to him.
"Anyway, I'm not sure this computer thing is quite in line with Heaven's doctrines," he said determinedly. "Inefficiency is not one of our strong suits!"
"No," said Crowley. "Your strong suit is the appearance of efficiency while really giving up and working it out with an almost dried up biro on the back of an envelope."
He grinned at Aziraphael's slightly dubious look, and took another sip of wine.
"S'true. Ask Michael some time."
"When have you been talking to Michael?" Aziraphael asked sharply. "Not for at least a thousand years, I'd wager."
Crowley smirked. "Which is about the last time he bought a new pen."
"That's not fair!"
"Computers, Angel! They're the wave of the future! Let me show you," Crowley said, crouching down next to Aziraphael's chair. He reached one arm around and tapped a button. The screen went black.
"Temporary setback!" Crowley announced. Aziraphael looked at him expectantly. "No, not really. Really that's just the screensaver. But you can CALL it that and your customers will have to leave without ever buying ANYTHING."
Crowley really was awfully close. It was one of those moments, which had been entirely too frequent, lately, in which Azirapahel spent far more time noticing the demon than noticing he was a demon. As it were.
"So...er...what was the button?"
"Button?" Crowley asked, vaguely, sunglasses reflecting back two sets of slightly distorted Aziraphaels. "Button for what?"
Aziraphael, distracted by the other hims, took the sunglasses off of Crowley's face.
"Button for.......not selling books to customers," he replied.
Crowley waved a hand. Aziraphael heard the front door lock snick shut.
"That one works," Crowley said throatily.
Aziraphael shifted uneasily in his chair.
"Now, Crowley, I can't go shutting the shop for no good reason, you know." He considered, for a moment, putting the sunglasses back on. Because yellow eyes were entirely more distracting than he'd bargained for.
"What about a very bad reason?" Crowley asked. A forked tongue flicked out across his lips for just a moment. "I could think of a few extremely wicked reasons to shut up the shop."
He leaned in closer, cocking his head sideways and up, grinning mischevously at Aziraphael from below. One of his hands slid from where it had rested innocently above Aziraphael's knee, down the inside of his leg and upwards.
"I'm sure you could come up with one or two if you really tried," he added.
Aziraphael shivered.
"I...well, I couldn't countenance exposing the innocent citizens of London -- " He was interrupted by Crowley's snort. "Oh hush. There's guaranteed to be at least one innocent -- "
His comment was swallowed by a swiftly indrawn breath as Crowley's hand slid higher.
"Not any more." The demon's voice was unutterably smug.
"Crowley!" Aziraphael said, looking shocked.
He did not, however, slap Crowley's hand away. In fact Crowley was almost sure he felt Aziraphael's hips slouch a little.
"I do ssso enjoy innocencssse," he hissed. The sibilance of it should have thrown up warning flags in Aziraphael's brain, but instead it inspired feelings of a rather different sort.
"This is not how divine redemption is supposed to go," he murmured, as Crowley's lips pressed against his.
"No, but debased corruption is so much more fun," Crowley whispered.
END
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*gasps between chortles* Screensaver! Wodehouse! Recipes! No innocents! Pens!
BRAVO!!
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While I still can't taste anything or breathe (one day, congestion, you'll get yours!), my mental health seems much better.
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"Shove off," he said succinctly.
"I beg your pardon?" said the young man, confused.
"Shove off, he's mine," Crowley repeated.
Aziraphael looked at Crowley, utterly bewildered, as the nattily dressed young man carefully placed the book on the counter and scurried out of the shop.
"What was that supposed to mean, my dear? You lay claim to the entire catalogue of published Wodehouse?"
"Yes! Wodehouse belongs to me exclusively," Crowley answered quickly. Aziraphale shot him a look. "What? You don't know that he doesn't."
BWAHAHAHAHAHA! Sam, I want you to know it's all your fault that I read Good Omens in the first place. Now I'm absolutely in love with Aziraphael and Crowley. This was fantastic. Definitely going in memories.
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love, lore
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Aziraphael looked horrified. "They're ALREADY trying!" he cried.
Love that part. And the ... insinuation at the end, too. I wonder how it feels to be kissed by somebody with a forked tongue ....
Anyhow. I'm gonna try and do some homework now. Thanks for the distraction!
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It's as unsettling as it is otherwise indescribable.
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