Author's note: Alright, I know I haven't posted anything in practical forever, and I've been writing this nonsensical thing just because I can. Anyway, it's been sitting in my Google Docs forever and I just thought, "Why the hell not?"
Just a forewarning, it's not all that well organised, and I cannot make any promises about misspellings being absent. This is my writing at it's absolute laziest.
So, here you go. A story with my OTP. A story that probably no one but me will enjoy. Yes.
No matter who one talks to, life is full of annoyances. Mosquitoes, outdoor barbeques where screaming children make up half the guests, and overall the heat of summer annoy pretty much everyone. However, Crowley's never really had to put up with those things. The things he is subjected to, however, are far worse, and they have a habit of making him beg to an absent god for the day the worst thing he has to deal with is a mosquito bite.
Crowley has got ninety-nine problems, with only about five of them centering around Hell. The other nintey-four? Well, they just happen to center around the absolute bane of Crowley's existence: Gabriel.
The problem is, the archangel — or whatever he's claiming to be these days — knows exactly what Crowley's buttons are and how to push them. The only thing that may be more problematic than that is the fact that Gabriel knows exactly where Crowley lives and the Enochian warding symbols that he has put up don't seem to help the issue. If anything, it appears to give the angel even more joy, due to the fact that Crowley hates having him in his house and he still manages to get in.
Today seems to be an entertaining day for Gabriel, even more so than usual. This is what worries Crowley as he spares a glance to see the angel lounging across the sofa in his office. The light from the window behind Crowley is shining through just right to hit the amber eyes as they return the glance.
"What's new with you, Cupcake?" Gabriel says, entirely over-enthusiastic considering that he's currently lazing around with a demon at the desk in front of him. Crowley frowns.
"I'm working," Crowley answers, looking back down to the papers in front of him. There are about twenty deals that are going to be collected tomorrow, he notes, and not one of them has used their deal to make anything out of themselves. Perfect, he thinks sarcastically.
"I can see that," Gabriel says. He groans and rolls over on the leather couch so that he is laying on his stomach, and looks at Crowley once again.
"Congratulations, Angel, you have eyes," Crowley remarks sarcastically as he shuffles through another five papers. Feeling Gabriel's eyes still on him, he looks up once again. "What the Hell do you want?" Crowley asks, because he wants nothing more than the lazy blob on his furniture to leave.
There's a gleam in Gabriel's eye, so Crowley braces himself. Whatever Gabriel's wanting to say, it cannot possibly be anything he would want to hear. Gabriel licks his lips and says, "I want you to..." He trails off, giving Crowley another reason to be annoyed with.
Crowley's only response is to roll his eyes. At least, that's his response until the angel zaps himself right behind him, and Crowley hears a whisper of, "Fuck me." His reaction then, of course, is to swat at Gabriel's head, which is now right beside his own.
He turns to see where the archangel has moved as he feels a rush of wings beside him. When he hears the rush across the room, it remains obvious that swatting at Gabriel isn't sufficient means to get rid of him.
Gabriel, however, has a shit-eating grin beaming on his face, making Crowley want to smack him upside the head even more than he already does. "Moron," Crowley says with a scowl, rolling in his office chair back up to his mahogany desk. He pulls a calligraphy pen angrily from its ink jar, and a droplet of ink falls from the point and onto the wood.
Before Crowley can even let a 'shit' out from under his breath, he hears Gabriel screech, "That is mahogany!" Crowley promptly looks up, and the only thing he's greeted with the continued grin that's planted on Gabriel's face, and he glares. "What?" Gabriel asks, voice overwhelmed with faux innocence.
"'What?'" Crowley repeats. "You know exactly what, Gabriel." He somewhat spits out the angel's name.
"You should say my name like that more often," Gabriel replies suggestively, licking his lips once again. "And do I? Do I really know what?" Gabriel pauses for a brief second, thinking. "Oh yeah. The 'what' is the fact that you are incredibly turned on and can't stand to look at me without popping a boner."
Crowley rolls his eyes. "Yes, of course, darling; seeing you arouses me beyond all comprehension." Crowley tries to ignore Gabriel's lascivious wink and puts his pen back without having used it.
"It does; you know it," Gabriel says casually, eyes now running over what he can see of Crowley over the desk. Crowley glances up yet again—he should probably stop doing that — and that earns him another wink from Gabriel. "You think about me all the time, Sugar. Don't think I don't know it."
"How about you try, 'I don't know what you're talking about'," Crowley suggests, death-glaring Gabriel. He is so done with the angel, and would like nothing more than for him to move his ass to Pluto.
"C'mon, quit being a coy cupcake. You totally want me spread out on your bed, moaning your name under you-"
Crowley cuts him off abruptly. "Actually, I totally want you to move your fat, candy-loving arse to Pluto. A dwarf-sized planet for a dwarf-sized angel," he says.
Gabriel clicks his tongue with faux disapproval. "You know I'm sensitive about that, Sunshine. You probably shouldn't have gone there." The angel shakes his head.
Crowley is about nine thousand percent done with the absolute ridiculousness of Gabriel's actions. He sighs exasperatedly and says, "Angel, I really do not feel like putting up with your nonsense today. Now if you will oh-so-kindly go away..."
Gabriel suddenly looks solemn and lowers his head. "I understand," he says quietly, shocking Crowley. Apparently, getting Gabriel to leave is easier than he expected.
"Good," he states, pulling the pen back out and scrawling something on the paper in front of him. However, after a few seconds go by and he still has yet to hear a rush of wings, Crowley cringingly looks up and is faced with the archangel still lounging on the stiff leather couch.
"What the bloody hell are you still doing here, Gabriel," Crowley asks sharply, not at all pleased.
Gabriel looks up from the couch that he has been studying, and Crowley sees the most aggravating smirk planted on his face. "Let's see..." Gabriel counts on his fingers — for what reason, Crowley has no idea. "Oh, right," the angel says with a nod. "You still have yet to fulfill my request."
Crowley gives him a poignant scowl and says sharply, "Your 'request' is not going to happen, darling. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever." He adds to his point by promptly drawing a line through the paper in front of him, only to realise that the paper was one that he needs. Damn angel.
The archangel gets up off the couch and holds out both his hands in front of him. "Woah, calm down there, Cupcake. If you don't want to sleep with me, you just had to say so." Crowley feels as though there should be something more in the angel's tone, something hurt, but he can't detect anything of the sort.
And just like that, Gabriel snaps his fingers and disappears, leaving Crowley alone and wondering if the angel really meant what he said.