Another light chapter. lol Don't get used to it.
Thank you betas Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink! Couldn't do this without you!
They leave the cottage in their new disguises. Angelique's new hairdo manages to change her face quite drastically. She now sports bangs, and the rest of it hangs no further than her jaw. She forgoes wearing any makeup and instead is wearing boy's clothing. With a few feminine accessories and simple jewellery she managed to dig up, Angelique is really pulling off her new look.
Aziraphale wears a simple button-down shirt with long sleeves that Angelique insisted should be rolled up to his elbows. He has no idea why. Covering his platinum curls is a tweed newsboy cap, and he's wearing–brace yourselves–denim trousers with trainers.
"I look ridiculous," he mutters down at Angelique self-consciously.
"Oh, stop," she beams up at him and squeezes his arm, "I love your usual wardrobe, but you look handsome in this as well. We'll get a few pints, play some darts or something, and then we can go home."
Handsome. Home. Aziraphale pushes down the bubbling happiness he feels at hearing the words. "I'll be ordering wine, thank you very much," he says primly and turns up his nose.
They enter the pub, which is busy and loud on a Friday evening and Aziraphale leads her straight to a small table toward the back. "All right, Ange–eh–l of mine," he blushes.
"Lizzie," she whispers helpfully.
"Right. Lizzie. Stay here, and I'll fetch our beverages," Aziraphale turns around and starts for the bar when Angelique replies.
"Thank you, love!"
One foot still raised, Aziraphale halts and quickly recovers from what he believes is a heart-attack, then continues onward. He orders a dark ale for Angelique and a red blend for himself. When he procures the spirits and turns around, he finds that Angelique is sitting at their table, flanked by two young men. They look about her age, well, her fake age, and they look drunk.
Drat.
As he pushes and winds his way through the establishment, he catches some of what the uninvited guests are saying.
"C'mon, le' us buy ye a dr-drink, yeah?"
Angelique smiles politely. "I already said my husband is on his way with our drinks, thank you."
"What? Tha ol' poof ye came in with?"
The lights flicker briefly over Angelique's head, and her eyes look like they could murder. Just as she opens her mouth, Aziraphale forcefully places their glasses on the table.
"Well, now, making friends already, my love?" He wills away a blush at what's just come flying out of his mouth without his permission. "The name's Ezra, how do you do?" He gives the hooligans a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Apologies, chap, but I do believe you are in my seat."
The bloke frowns and looks up at Aziraphale in disgust. He stands and wobbles then grabs for Aziraphale's collar. "Listen 'ere y' pansy–"
No miracle is necessary when Aziraphale snatches his hand and squeezes until several cracks can be heard. "Now, now, no need for name-calling or violence."
"OOOoo! Ow-ow-ow!" The man pulls his hand out of Aziraphale's grasp and trips over his friend, sending them both crashing to the ground.
Aziraphale merely pulls the now empty chair next to Angelique and sits down like nothing. "And from now on, you will have more respect for women and the LGBT community." It's a mild angelic suggestion that he knows will stick.
The men scurry away and head for the exit.
"Ah, there we are," the angel says merrily while pushing Angelique's pint in front of her. He glances up, and his breath hitches at the look she's giving him. "Eh..." he says, intelligently right before she lunges at him and plants her lips on his. "Mmmff!" His surprise turns into intoxication when she opens her mouth and swipes his bottom lip with her tongue.
The kiss lingers, and Aziraphale is about to respond in kind when Angelique pulls back and ducks her head with embarrassment. She seizes her glass, throws her ale back, then slams it back on the table after a few large gulps.
"There," she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, "that should make things clear to everyone, don't you think?" Her pitch is high, and she looks everywhere but at him.
Aziraphale's lips are still frozen in a pucker when a live band starts to play. "Mm. Yes. Clear. Very." He forgets to let his wine breathe and takes a swig. The only thing keeping him from spitting the almost-vinegar back out is his unyielding grasp on decorum, and a hunch that he might need it to survive the evening.
They're stiff and quiet for the first round. Angelique starts to droop in her seat and begins to stare solemnly at her half-empty glass. Aziraphale leans in. "If you don't like your ale, I can get you something else. I'd offer you my wine but I'm almost positive it's a cleaning agent of some kind."
Angelique scoffs and smirks but the small smile dies quickly. "It's not the ale."
The angel nods sagely and thinks she's melancholic because of her situation, maybe thinking of her family.
"I shouldn't have kissed you," she says so low that Aziraphale could have missed it.
He feels a small punch to the gut.
"I should have asked, I'm sorry. And I'm sorry about the whole married backstory thing. Maybe we should have done, I dunno, siblings, or maybe you could have been my–"
"Don't say, father," he says in warning.
She laughs. It's a small balm to the hurtful thought that she regrets kissing him. "If you're going to be stuck babysitting me, you should at least be able to, you know, find, erm, company."
Aziraphale experiences a long moment of confusion before he understands what she means. "Oh! Oh, no, no, no. I'm not interested in anyone but you." His eyes nearly pop out of their sockets at what that sounded like. What's worse is that Angelique is looking at him with a hopeful smile and what is he supposed to say now? "I meant, I mean, I have no desire to, ah, have other company–like that."
Angelique's smile falters a little but she still seems pleased. "Oh, okay." She takes a drink, then another, and then inhales deeply before she speaks again. "If you did, want company, like that. What, ah, what would be your type? Apart from redheaded demons, that is."
The pub is starting to feel quite small, and a tad bit too warm. Aziraphale glares at her for a moment and then finishes his wine. She's already waving for another round so he can't change the subject. "I don't much have a type, actually. It's, erm, it's been," he clicks his tongue and fidgets with his empty glass, "it's been a while."
Thankfully, Angelique doesn't react much to his admission. "You must have preferences though, right?"
Aziraphale shakes his head and shrugs. "When I began my venture into experiencing the, heh, pleasures of the flesh, many centuries ago, my partners were mostly male. For several reasons, really, but mostly it was because it was less complicated." His eyebrows shoot up as he takes a generous swallow from his new glass.
"Less complicated to be with a man? Wasn't it worse back then to be with a same-sex partner?"
Why is she so curious? Best not think too deeply on the answer. "Well, if one was discreet, it wasn't much of a problem. Much harder to tarnish a man's reputation than a woman's, especially then." He clears his throat. "And a man would never try to corner you into marriage." Aziraphale chances a glance in Angelique's direction and finds her smiling wickedly.
"Oh, there's a story there!" She laughs openly and then slaps his shoulder. "Do tell!"
The angel rolls his eyes but chuckles. "Not much to tell. I was a bit naive about the customs of the time–"
"No!" Angelique gasps and sends a hand to her chest. "You? Not with the times?!"
He glowers but the corners of his mouth turn up anyway. "I was also inexperienced and eager to… experience." He ignores her sniggers. "A young lady, on the brink of becoming a spinster, had her eye on me. She was quite forward, come to think of it. We enjoyed ourselves for a bit, but then on one occasion, I found her mother in a tizzy, planning our wedding."
As expected, Angelique bursts out laughing.
Maybe it's because of the alcohol, or that enough time has passed since the incident, or maybe it's the lovely company, but Aziraphale begins to chortle as well. "Don't laugh! It was a bloody nightmare! Have you any idea how many miracles it took to fix that debacle?!"
The night gets easier for them both from then on, and Aziraphale finds that he's really enjoying himself. He knows they're drinking too much. He knows this. But he also knows he can sober himself up, and her, if need be. It wouldn't be too big of a miracle, he doesn't think. So, Aziraphale lets it happen. He lets it all happen.
All of it.
At some point, Angelique tucks herself under Aziraphale's arm, or he drapes his arm over her shoulder. He's not sure. It's too loud to be heard without yelling, or, in their case, leaning in very close and speaking directly into the shells of their ears. He feels a tingling sensation every time her lips brush his sensitive earlobe, and he wonders if she feels it too. It's all fine, right? They're married! Haha! Aziraphale feels warm, jovial, and so content, and so very, very drunk.
"Your lipss'r purple," Angelique breathes and sniggers almost directly into his cheek.
It's his turn to press his nose into her hair and murmur, "S' from the rubbish, dismal, horrid, grape syrup they call wine I've imbibed all evening for," he boops her nose, "you." He' tilts his head up with pride for saying all that without slurring.
Angelique gazes at him with a confused brow and an amused smirk. "You're slurrin', y' big ol' lush."
Aziraphale gasps dramatically. "M'not drunk. You haven't," the t sounds harder than he meant it to come out, "seen m'drunk."
Angelique is already shaking her head and laughing. "All I hear is, wha-wha-wha-wha," she says while using her hand like a puppet.
The angel is wheezing, but he's determined to be understood, so he moves in to repeat himself at the same time Angelique turns her face to say something else and–
And when did his tongue get in her mouth?
And how did they end up back in the cottage?
And Angelique was right, her breasts are proportionate to the rest of her, and they fit so nicely in the palm of his hand... and mouth.
And, lord, her skin is so soft, but her nipples are hard on his tongue, and she's so wet on his fingers, and her moans are so pretty, and she smells divine, and - one taste is all he wants. Just one little lick and-and-and-
And now he's asleep.
For those reading this on FFN, there is art for this story! You can find it on Instagram using the #threetogavotte hashtag at mordellestories.
