"Let's go to the Dog & Duck," said Crowley, leaning on a stack of books. "Come on, you know you want to." He flashed a serpentine smile.
Aziraphale nudged his friend's elbow off the stack and proceeded to straighten it up. "I can't, I have to work. I do own this shop, you know. I'm not like you, who can just conjure up limitless funds as you please."
"You, angel, are exactly like me," Crowley said smoothly. The angel's head shot up to glare at the demon. "In a strictly financial sense, of course." Crowley flashed his best, most persuasive grin. Which apparently had no effect, because Aziraphale then pointed out that despite how he would dearly miss Crowley's hysterical sense of humor, he really had some work to be getting on with and it was a bit late, wasn't it?
The demon took the hint and sauntered out.
Several hours later, the angel was sipping a cup of Earl Grey and perusing his first-edition of Pilgrim's Progress -- always good for a chuckle -- when there came a knock at the door. Crowley, he knew, Crowley who was probably too drunk to stand up properly. The knocking became more insistent. Hastily he put away the book and unlocked the door.
He was right -- it was Crowley, swaying gently in the glow of the solitary streetlamp. "Hi!" he cried a little too loudly.
"Hello," Aziraphale said curtly. "How many times must we go over this, dear boy? It is not safe for you to be getting drunk when I'm not there!"
Crowley seemed unfazed. For all the good it did, Aziraphale might as well be talking to a squirrel. Or an platypus, more like.(1) "I luuuurve you, angel, ya know?" slurred the demon. "I theenk I do... do I? Yeah..."
"I -- er -- lurve you too," said the angel hastily. "Now let's get you inside and sober you up, hmm?"
"Yeah, 'sober me up,' I can dig that." Crowley tried hard to put on his most seductive, most smooth-operating flash-bastard look. To Aziraphale, it appeared as though Crowley was going to be sick.
"Oh, dear. Yes, let's get you inside." Aziraphale's mothering instincts took over and he steered his friend inside, placing his arm around Crowley's shoulder to guide him, and quietly shut the door.
The angel turned around to find the demon face-to-face and still swaying slightly. "Crowley, what are you doing? Ha--" The other's face was suddenly half an inch away, Crowley's mouth coming directly for his own, and he could feel the demon's slightly sour breath on his skin.
"Sobering up," the demon whispered.
Aziraphale, stepping back, placed his hands on the demon's shoulders and pushed him into a chair. "You know that was not what I meant," he replied, his face serious. He thrust a flowered teacup at him. "Here, drink this."
Crowley sputtered. "What are you doing?"
There was a pause. Aziraphale didn't want to put it like this, but it had to be said. "Thwarting," he answered quietly.
"But..." In its inebriated state Crowley's brain flailed. "But I luuurve you!"
"I know you do. I... 'lurve'... you back -- as a friend," Aziraphale enunciated. "Like I love all of God's children. Even those who've Fallen."
"Sauntered Vaguely Downwards," Crowley muttered. "And I don't see what everyone else has to do with it."
The angel didn't know what to say. "I love you but I'm not 'in love' with you... Is that how you say it?"
The demon snorted loudly, the alcohol beginning to fade. "Out of every line in the world, you pick that one? I would expect better than that."
Aziraphale was not to be deterred. "The point is that angels are sexless, and you know that. You shouldn't expect more from me than friendship."
"Zeus wasn't sexless." Crowley looked petulant.
"Yes, well, Zeus was too curious for his own good, wasn't he?" Aziraphale said, more sharply than intended. He hated being reminded of his second cousin, and Crowley darn well knew it.
The demon stood up abruptly, the alcohol having left his system. "Zeus also knew how to take a risk. He knew how to live, man."
Somewhere inside Aziraphale a vocabulary geek was jumping up and down. "We're immortal."
Crowley took off his shades and glared. "Not the point, angel." Returning the shades to his nose he strode over to the door. "Bloody stupid wanker," he muttered.
Aziraphale hastened to the door as the demon's silhouette faded into the landscape. The vocabulary geek was screaming for justice. He didn't use the word himself, but had heard enough people use it to get a general idea, and there was correcting to be done. "I'm not a wanker," he yelled into the night, "that's the whole point!"
(1) Aziraphale, being ethereal, had quite the affinity for small woodland creatures, and therefore a squirrel would have gotten the message better than a drunken Crowley. However, platypuses are altogether stupid animals, and would not even understand if a bug jumped out of the bushes and danced around yelling, "Eat me!"
Reviews please! Let me know if the characters are a bit OOC; for example, I say "dig it," but I'm not sure if Crowley would.