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(You are My) All-Time Favorite Alibi
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"Crowley, my dear fellow! How long it took me to realize—It was you!"
Crowley hums from the other end of the sofa. Some thing or other had pissed him off as early as breakfast today so he's dressed like a tourist wandering around elsewhere—Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts, socks and crocs—to annoy everybody on the way to get the milk this morning. He flexes his bare toes on the rug. "What is it this time? If it's about the raccoon who just had babies in your wardrobe..."
"Not at all." Aziraphale buzzes like it's young love coursing through his veins again, but he takes several breaths so as not to ruin Crowley's handiwork. "If I may ask, dear, and feel free to tell me if this isn't a good time... have you ever went to church regularly? No, rather, would it so happen that you have ever asked a little girl to stab you on the knee to avoid First Communion?"
Crowley blinks like a snake if snakes could do it. "Not asked,really. More like..."
"Bribed?"
"Yyyyyy. Yes. In church. At First Communion. In the middle of sermon-"
"-on the sins of youthful imagination, using an apple-flavored lolly and a 'dirty' bootleg cassette at the backmost pew for first-time confessors?"
Crowley looks up from painting Paisley Blue Daydreams on his husband's pinky toe. "That's oddly specific. Whatever had you thinking I'd be into Tartini at eight years old?"
And there it is, that age-old snark. Crowley's shoulders are still set high, but with that snappy tone it place, Aziraphale knew he could do something about it. "At my First Communion, I sat next to a girl with a wee bit too much eye liner on for the occasion. Must have done it herself. Some ways into the sermon, it started running down her face. I offered her the cookie I snuck in to nibble-"
"You put cookies in your dress pockets? Like, naked, packaging-less, crumbly cookies?"
"-said, 'I'm going to throw up.' Now, you know I grew up somewhat sheltered. It was the first time I've ever heard the words 'throw up' in that order. I thought it meant she was going to trash the altar, or levitate like they do in The Exorcist. Certainly, not the best state to have a chocolate chip."
"I was gonna, eventually."
"Which?"
"Never mind, that wasn't- Well, did she?"
"Very nearly, I should think, she was rather pale and can't stop crying. She whispered, 'Is it true that after First Confession, you swear fealty to the church and the priest slaps you across the face three times, as hard as he can, to introduce you to the lifelong pain of being a Warrior for Christ?' And I said, 'Well, that's not very priestly of Pastor Arcangel, is it?' and she said, 'That's not an answer, you crumb-smuggling pansy!'"
Crowley pauses to look him in the eye. "Did they hurt you afterwards, angel?"
Aziraphale pauses. Looks back down on the hem of his husband's knee-length khaki atrocity to regain his smile. "I've heard the rumors, too, but I couldn't tell her that. She was so distraught, poor thing. In any case, she declared, 'I don't want to be slapped, so I won't. I've had enough long ago,' pulled out a pencil, and asked me to stab her so that an ambulance would whisk her away before her turn came!"
"How... dramatic." Crowley pats his lover's cheeks like the gentlest afterthought and goes back to painting his nails.
"I took me some convincing, I must admit. Certainly, we'd both have something to confess once our turns came. I asked why she wanted me to do it, and she said she was afraid she'd miss. But in the end... " Aziraphale sighs. "I've always wanted to try it, so she lifted her skirt and counted to three..."
"Aw, heavens. Don't tell me. You, you bastard, you enjoyed it! This-" Crowley jabs the grey-ish dot under pale skin smack in the middle of his left kneecap, "You put that there and you're proud of it! I only wanted a little blood, not a permanent fixture!"
"But that's how I knew it was you after all these years! Oh, and I still have that tape. I'll go get it." Aziraphale waddles out, careful not to let his toes touch the ground.
"Bastard!" Crowley calls out.
They return to the couch in silence, pondering "The Devil's Trill" and all the years they could have been together. Eventually, Crowley scratches his head. "But of course it was you. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been so..." He gropes the air for words, finally gesturing to Aziraphale's form while looking into his eyes: "smitten seeing you again. Don't get me wrong, you looked nice in your dress that day, but a suit does you wonders even better."
"Oh, my dearest friend. Like kittens," Aziraphale giggles. "Smitten kittens!"
Crowley does a face and a sound with the skin of his neck. "Let it go. The '50s was 70 years ago. About time you upgrade the aesthetic." And some violent violin vibratos later, "Thanks for doing that, by the way. And not telling anyone there was nothing to exorcise when I," (a floundering of bony hands,) "freaked out in unimaginable pain until they carted me out. I was more shocked than hurt, really."
"I'm glad to hear it. You never returned."
"And you?"
"Some years after. They wouldn't let me be an altar boy!" He shook his head. "I stayed in case you came back. But you never did. Well, here we are today, so I guess it worked out in the end."
Crowley doesn't look when he takes Aziraphale's hand and sets it on the stab wound. He sounds like a child confessing to love for the first time when he says, "You could still be my altar boy."
"Of course, love," Aziraphale pecks his cheek. "After you introduce me to the raccoons."
A/N: A thank you drabble for esrahtheorganizedmess and gdubrovskaya on Tumblr for conceptualizing and making art for my post! See more of my memes on harayaan-mo-sila.
The "initiation rite" depicted here is based on true stories of my old churchgoing classmates. Stream Lil Nas X's "Montero (Call Me By You Name)" to press f.
Happy Trans Visibility Day! 3