A/N: This is just a little ficlet I wrote last night. Apologies to anybody reading this who's still waiting for me to get the next chapter of Sex, Drugs and Existential Crisis written and posted, it's taking me a while to finish that one.
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"He was doing what?"
Crowley sighed as Sable's expression momentarily wavered between disbelief and annoyance, before settling on unconcealed amusement.
"He was pleasuring himself on a pile of discarded crisp packets in the middle of my living room floor: my newly sanded living room floor."
Sable inclined his head, clearly trying to develop a mental picture of the event. If the proceeding flash of hunger in his eyes was anything to go by he seemed to find the resultant image rather stimulating.
"It wouldn't have been so bad if it wasn't for the constant dirty talk."
"He is the personification of filth and despoilment. You really can't expect him to speak any other way."
"Yes, but he's so bloody juvenile about it. There are backstreet bargain basement pornos with better dialogue."
The personification shook his head in a manner that had distinct overtones of doting exasperation.
"I still don't know what you expect me to do about it, Crowley," said Sable, lips twitching upwards.
The demon glowered, wondering if the embodiment of Famine had recently discovered the joys of deliberate obtuseness. "Can't you deal with him?"
Sable arched a thin, elegantly shaped eyebrow. "Deal with him?"
"You know, have a word with him: Apocalyptic Horseman to Apocalyptic Horseman."
"And you think that he'll listen."
"Gelb says that he respects you the most."
The eyebrow arched further. "You've talked to Gelb about this?"
Crowley nodded. Despite his own personal – and rather undemonic – aversion to sickness and decay, he'd always got along reasonably well with old Pestilence, who didn't seem to harbour any sort of lingering resentment about the Apocalypse That Wasn't the way that Famine and War seemed to.
"He sends his regards, by the way... Gelb, that is, wonders if you'll be free to drop by for a little soiree once he's not so busy with the latest epidemic."
Sable snorted. "The kid might respect me and the boundaries between our work; but that doesn't mean he'll listen to me when it comes to more personal matters."
"You mean you can't rein him in?"
"Rein him in?"
"You know, take him in hand. Show him who's boss. Make him see—"
Crowley halted his reeling off of synonymous phrases as the look on Sable's face suddenly went from amused to frighteningly intense.
"In other words," the personification said slowly, "you want me to put him over my knee and give him a sound spanking?"
The demon blinked. It really wasn't the solution that Crowley had thought Sable would propose, but on the other hand... "Do you think that it'd work?"
A strange smile settled onto Famine's sharp features.
"I suppose we won't know unless I try it."