Marcia had been planning to attend the Paleontology Department's annual Halloween mixer that night. She had her costume all ready—a not particularly sexy, pachycephalosaurus, complete with tail, beak, and domed skull cap. She had just gotten out of the shower, and had been about to get dressed, when the night had suddenly taken this abrupt and sudden detour from normality.
Now, instead of her painstakingly designed dinosaur costume, she was wearing a skimpy, red dress (definitely fitting into the sexy-(fill in the blank) genre of Halloween costume choices, even if she wasn't sure what the blank was supposed to be, and she felt more uncomfortable than sexy. Azazel's blank seemed to have been filled with some member of the bovidea family.
She hunched in around herself further, trying to cover her mostly exposed chest, and cast a sidelong look at her abductor. If she didn't know better, she might have thought that Adam's mum was some kind of demon.
It's just a costume, Marcia, she told herself. Some decent special effects makeup, and well-employed misdirection—nothing that an illusionist with a bit of imagination wouldn't be able to manage.
Oh yeah? Why did you put the dress on then? Her own thoughts rebelled against her, and she shivered.
The car swerved across three lanes of traffic and sped through an intersection, ignoring the red traffic signal, and nearly colliding with another car. Guess I know where Adam learned to drive, she thought, and on its heels, am I really going to believe that this maniac is Adam's mum?
It seemed that she was, because before she knew it, she was asking, "So, you gave Adam up for adoption? Did you have him very young?" That had to be it. Azazel hadn't looked much over thirty before whatever trickery had been used to change her from her female appearance, to this male one, and she didn't look any older as a man than he had as a woman—Marcia's brain stuttered over the appropriate use of pronouns in this situation.
"Gave up isn't exactly the way I would put it," Azazel said, "and not young by your standards."
Marcia was uncertain what her standards were supposed to be. The lizard part of her brain was curled into a ball, gibbering to itself, while the rational, critical thinking part was stubbornly pretending that everything was normal.
"I've met the Youngs," she said. "I'm sure that must be a very difficult decision to make, but he couldn't have been placed with a nicer family."
"Nice wasn't really what we were going for, but I guess it worked out," Azazel grumbled. "You should know that Adam isn't expecting you."
"It will be a nice surprise for him then," she said, forcing her tone to stay even and pleasant. Really, it was something of a relief, and she was looking forward to seeing him. She was ready for an explanation, and Adam would sort everything out. He was a good guy, mostly, if a little strange. They'd gotten on well when they had been together. He really hadn't seemed the type to send a lunatic out to kidnap his ex-girlfriend. But, then, you could never quite tell how a guy would react to a break-up. You had to be careful.
Careful? Like when you got into a car with a complete stranger, after they broke into your flat, and dressed you in lingere?
Marcia swallowed hard, and focused her eyes firmly on the road, trying to pretend that what she saw before her was a perfectly normal scene of perfectly normal traffic going by, and not something out of a safety video from a driver's training course about reckless driving—the kind that ended with a crash, some sad music, and white letters on a black screen with a message like, 'She was only nineteen,' or, 'One bad decision ended the lives of three people that night.'
But, somehow, Marcia didn't think that the drunk drivers in those videos could make the other vehicles on the road disappear from right in front of them and reappear, safely out of harm's way, the way that Azazel seemed to be able to.
The rational part of her brain was considering joining the lizard to help in th gibbering department.
oOoOoOo
"No war," Beelzebub said to their drink, as Gabriel took a seat beside them at the bar.
"Should have suspected something," he agreed. "We're short three horsemen. You can't have a war without War."
Beelzebub turned an unimpressed glare on him. "That'sz clever. Did you think of that all by yourszelf?"
Gabriel bristled. "What do we do now?"
"Drink," Beelzebub said, demonstrating.
Gabriel held a finger up to the barman to catch his attention. "Vodka martini."
Beelzebub raised a brow at him. "What happened to not szullying your czelesztial temple?"
"God says it's a party, and I should take a night off." Gabriel's lips twisted in distaste.
"Oh, really," Beelzebub said, with a suddenly predatory tone. They reached out to pluck the olive from Gabriel's recently arrived martini, and popped it into their mouth. "I could help you with that."
oOoOoOo
"What are you looking for?" Aziraphale asked. "All the paintings are over here."
"I'm looking for the cupboard," Crowley answered, though it was obvious that there wasn't one. They'd been through all the rooms up here already.
"What cupboard?"
"The one we're going to go into, so I can teach you the meaning of the term seven minutes in Heaven."
"Oh," Aziraphale said, cheeks flushing, and eyes going dark. "I've actually… encountered that term before, as it happens." He laughed. "There was a bit of miscommunication when I was filling in on one of your temptations, and I thought that I was accompanying a young lady to confession."
Crowley gave up his search and turned on Aziraphale. "You… you, what?"
"It came as quite the shock when I discovered what she truly intended, but," he gave a little wiggle, "temptation accomplished."
Crowley narrowed his eyes, and looked suspiciously at Aziraphale's crotch. "How, exactly, was that temptation accomplished? Snogging isn't really considered a carnal sin, and you said that you never bothered with the requisite equipment, because it ruined the line of your trousers. How is it that you were out tempting young women into lustful cupboard encounters? And, more importantly, angel, how exactly were you going to do that in a confessional booth?"
"Well," Aziraphale hedged. "Just because I didn't have the requisite equipment…" he trailed off. "Besides, I'd hardly have been doing a very good job at being a demon, if I let her go to confession on her own. I'd been intending to subvert the proceedings—work my wiles on her.
"Your wiles," Crowley repeated.
"Well, I got the job done," Aziraphale protested.
"I'm sure you did."
"It isn't entirely to my taste, if I'm honest," Aziraphale admitted. "Though, I'd be open to giving it another go, if you decide that you want to start favoring frocks again. I suspect it might be different, if it wasn't, you know… for work. I mean, it wasn't meant to be, strictly speaking, my work, but if it hadn't been me doing it, it would have been you. So, it really doesn't matter whose work it was. Really, it seemed the quickest way to accomplish the job and get back to my bookstore, and I suppose it's like the old adage, it's a dirty job, but-"
"Angel?"
"Hmm?"
"Shut up."
Aziraphale fluffed his wings indignantly, but then he saw the look on Crowley's face. "I'm sorry. Does that bother you?"
"Does it bother me that you were out performing cunnilingus in cupboards, and letting me file it as a standard temptation on my paperwork?"
"It was only a few times," Aziraphale defended.
"A few times? This happened more than once?"
"Only once in the cupboard, and it wasn't always cunnilingus. Sometimes, it was the fellatio, depending on the parts involved. Like I said, sometimes it was simply the most expedient way to get the whole thing over with. "
"Expedient?"
"I had other things to do."
"Things besides blowing people in cupboards?"
"I told you, it was only the one time in the cupboard."
"The location isn't the point. It's the actthat I'm concerned about. I thought you were suspiciously good at sucking cock, but I just figured it was all the practice you had making obscene sounds over your dessert."
Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. It isn't as though you'd never done it before we decided to add a physical aspect to our relationship."
"That isn't the point."
Aziraphale raised a brow then. "What is?"
"How long was this going on? If I'd had any idea that you were available for cunnilingus…"
"I told you that I didn't enjoy it. It was just work. I suppose, I might have… if you'd asked, I mean—a favor for a friend."
"Well, you wouldn't have enjoyed it without a cock to give you incentive, or at least some emotional involvement, and what do you mean, favor for a friend?" Crowley hissed. "You're so… so… I don't even know. So,.. something. A bloody, aggravating angel."
"Not an angel anymore," Aziraphale reminded him, gently. "If you feel like putting on a wedding dress for a bit, or taking it off, we could try it with the proper incentive and emotional involvement."
Crowley blinked at him, irritation instantly gone, and the basis of his argument dissipating into thin air—replaced with an image of Aziraphale sucking at the top of his ice cream cone.
They stopped looking for the cupboard. The middle of the floor seemed like the most expedient option, given the circumstances.
oOoOoOo
Lucifer was bored. Azazel was off doing… well, God probably knew what, but he sure as Hell didn't. Beelzebub had sulked off somewhere. Adam was making a display out on the dancefloor with Oscar Wilde—whether to make some unknown point to Lucifer, or because he really was just that far gone in love with the man, he didn't know.
He scanned the room to find someone else to talk to, but it was potentially hostile elements all around. He wouldn't have minded a chance to talk to Warlock Dowling for a moment, find out what had become of his would've-been son, but the kid was all over Adam's little friend, Pepper. Public displays of affection, or perhaps lust, seemed to be something that they both had in common, at the very least. There was always, Death, he supposed, but Charron could be such a cunt, and he was at a table with Jesus and that singer that Azazel had been going on about—Phil Neptune, or Frankie Uranus, or whatever. Lucifer could feel the IQ dropping in the conversation, from here.
The band started up with Hallelujah, and Lucifer groaned.
Enough was enough.
There was a time, when you let me know, what's really going on below, but now you never show that to me, do ya?
Lucifer got up from the table, downed the remaining scotch from his glass, and strode up toward the source of his irritation. "I think that's enough of that," he shouted, as he hopped up onto the stage, and the band cut off in the middle of the song.
"Excuse me?" the singer asked, irritated.
Lucifer waved a hand at him. "Why don't you take a break for a while?"
The singer abruptly sat down on the edge of the stage and looked dazed.
The other wedding guests, no longer dancing, all stared up at him. "Don't look at me like that. I've had all the maudlin love songs about faith that I can handle for one night." He flicked his arm out and an electric violin fell into place, cradled on his shoulder. "I'm happy to provide an alternative. How about I play something that you can actually dance to? But first, please allow me to introduce myself."
The band struck up with Sympathy for the Devil, despite never having rehearsed the song, and Lucifer alternated between singing the lyrics and playing the more interesting bits on his electric violin.
The couples slowly moved off the dance floor, but they remained at the edges, and were mostly enjoying the show anyway—especially God, for some ineffable reason.
Adam watched his father with amusement, but no surprise whatsoever, leaning back into Oscar, head rested on his shoulder.
Lucifer was just getting to, "As heads is tails, just call me Lucifer, 'cause I'm in need of some restraint," when Azazel and Marcia showed up.
Adam turned his head to find the source of the resulting catcall, Azazel, and met eyes with his ex-girlfriend.
"Marcia?"
"Adam!" she yelled over an impromptu violin solo. "What the Hell is going on?"
That's what Adam would like to know, as well, and he was pretty sure that Hell was exactly the right place to start his inquiries. He looked to his mother and tried to decide which side of the edge between exasperation and rage his reaction should fall on with this new fuckery. The beaming smile he received in return tilted him toward exasperation.
He saw the exact moment when Azazel registered the fact that Adam was resting in the circle of Oscar's arms and didn't look at all pleased to see Marcia, as the smile fell, and Azazel lifted a hand to his mouth. Adam gave him a disapproving look in return, and turned to face Oscar.
"Looks like I'll have to sort this out," he said, into Oscar's ear, to be heard over the music. "Might take a while."
"Who is that?" Oscar asked.
"My ex, and she's an atheist, so this is going to be an interesting conversation." Adam kissed Oscar's cheek, and gave his hand a squeeze, before extricating himself to go over to Azazel and Marcia.
"Could you wait out in the hall for a minute?" he asked her. "I'll explain everything and get you a cab home. I just want a minute to talk to my mother." He growled out the familial title, as he gave Azazel a glare.
"Yeah, I think I'd like to hear that," Marcia said, casting one look back at Azazel, as she walked toward the exit.
Oh yeah, Adam was going to have a lot of explaining to do, and he didn't think that Marcia would take it half as well as Warlock had. Maybe, in just this one instance, lying would be the better part of valor.
"I thought you looked lonely," Azazel said, when she was gone.
"I wasn't."
"I can see that. If you'd mentioned…"
"I hadn't gotten around to it. I told dad, but you were already gone, and he had no idea what you were up to either."
"I thought it would be a nice surprise."
"It isn't."
Azazel tilted his head to the side, and said, suggestively, "It could be, if you're feeling adventurous-"
"I'm not," Adam cut him off before he could suggest whatever he was about to suggest.
"Oscar Wilde, huh?"
"Oscar Wilde," Adam agreed.
"I can't argue with your taste. He did clean up nice in that plum suit I put him in. And he's so tall."
Adam narrowed his eyes. "Yes."
"Well," Azazel said, brightly. "All's well that ends well. I suppose you'll be spending a bit more time at home now."
"Hell isn't my home," Adam said, even if the validity of that statement might well be decreasing by the minute, "and this definitely isn't over. I'm going to go try to reverse whatever damage you've done to Marcia, but we need to discuss boundaries. I love you, but sometimes, you really just need to learn to mind your own business."
"You… love me?" Azazel asked, and the shocked wonder in his voice made Adam lose the battle with exasperation completely.
He sighed. "Yes, of course, I love you. You're irritating; you always show up when I least expect you, or want you around, and I'm not very happy with you right now, but of course I love you. You're my mum, one of them, anyway.
And then Azazel was hugging him again, and Adam just gave up, and let him.