The Party
By: vampfire
Disclaimer: No profit is being made from this, obviously. Gaiman and Pratchett own all the characters.
Summary: Crowley hopes to get in some dance time with a certain angel at a party. Slash. Crow/Azi.
Crowley made his way through the club to a private room that'd been let out for the party, whistling a blasphemous tune with his forked tongue and happier than he'd been in at least a decade. Tonight he'd be surrounded by the vices of humanity. There would be smoking and drinking and a host of improper sexual situations, and in the middle of it all would be he, Crowley, and the most unlikely individual on the planet to be in one of the city's seedier clubs, Aziraphale.
Crowley had been relishing thoughts of dancing with Aziraphale, not in the manner the angel might have imagined when he'd accepted the invitation to attend this birthday party, but in the totally intimate, primal way this latest generation of humanity danced. For an entire week since the both of them had received invitations to Adam Young's surprise eighteenth birthday party thrown by his friends, Crowley had fantasized about dancing with Aziraphale. He would give him some time to adjust at first, out of courtesy, and because angels didn't quite pick up rhythm the way a demon could. But then he would close the gap between them, fold his arms around the angel, let their bodies scrape against each other as the harsh music filled their movements... Eventually it would end, of course, and Aziraphale would remark days later how educational a cultural experience that had been, and Crowley would get hot with the memory but never suggest that it meant anything more to him than it had to the oblivious angel.
But in the meantime, there was the entire night to enjoy. And an angel to pursue, not out of any desire to corrupt him, but because Crowley had finally admitted to himself just how much he needed the bloody halo- wearing, do-good-ing, hymn-singing old bugger.
Now that the door to the room was actually in sight, Crowley couldn't help but grin openly at the sudden mental image of Aziraphale having arrived before him, standing even now amidst a revelry neither Heaven nor Hell could hope to imitate, with that adorably embarrassed and surprised expression on his face.
Crowley pulled open the door and froze. He stood completely motionless from shock. Then anger, rage, filled him like flood waters rushing through a gorge. He let the anger flow through him until he could feel himself losing control of his human shape. He knew the trembling sensations ripping through his body would in only a moment result in a shift to his true form. A form as promising as a bottomless hole, as welcoming as the Grim Reaper, as cheerful as a damned soul in the seventh circle of Hell. A form that would quite possibly destroy the minds of all the people blithely talking and dancing in the room when they caught sight of it. And A. J. Crowley couldn't have cared less.
"Mr. Crowley, er... there are a couple veins in your face that are about to burst. Maybe you ought to sit down?"
Crowley turned his attention to the familiar voice of Adam's friend, Pepper. His attention was diverted a moment as he realized with a start that he hadn't seen the girl for years and that, well, he shouldn't probably call her a girl anymore. She, like Adam, was eighteen years old now, and looked it. Pepper smiled uncertainly at him then thought to look along his line of sight, after which she immediately grasped the problem. "Oh."
Crowley could feel his anger build again, though at least he'd gained control over his outward form due to her interruption.
"Er," Pepper said. She seemed to think for a moment and her face colored slightly in embarrassment as she put two and two together. "Mr. Crowley... instead of standing here having a heart attack about it, why don't you, you know, do something about it?" With that the girl flushed deeper, looking younger and more innocent than she was.
But Crowley's enraged expression had faded away as he began to return to normal. The tide of rage tipped away from enough of his brain cells to allow the formation of a Course of Action. Sneering, he launched himself into the crowd, confidence restored.
"Azi!" he said, loud enough for the pair to hear him over the loud throbbing music of the club. The man who sat beside Aziraphale looked up, mild annoyance flickering in his eyes at the sight of Crowley advancing toward his formerly private conversation with the angel.
"Hi, Crowley!" Aziraphale returned, gaily. He appeared not the least aware that there was a half-naked man sitting at his side with his arm over the back of Aziraphale's chair. "You've simply got to see this instrument!"
Crowley frowned, but inwardly sighed in relief. As improbable as it was, part of him had still wondered whether Aziraphale was purposefully inviting the flirtation this time. But no, the innocent angel simply had no idea.
Crowley dutifully approached to study the man's "instrument." The guy wore too many rings in his ears, his brown hair in a trendy cut, and a scowl that informed Crowley he didn't take well to being interrupted. He wore no shirt, displaying his strong build to full advantage. The bastard was apparently a member of a band that was not currently playing. He held an electric guitar across his lap, with the requisite boxes of electronics arranged on the stage behind him. Also across his lap, or damn near close to it, was Aziraphale, intrigued with the sounds the strings of the guitar could make. Crowley seethed with anger as the angel plucked a few strings to show to him, but when Aziraphale looked up for Crowley's reaction to this novel instrument, Crowley couldn't help but sigh at naive, innocent, wonderful Aziraphale.
The two were the only ones sitting on the edge of the stage. Crowley turned at the sound of a giggle as two scantily-dressed young women surveyed the guitarist and the blonde angel and came to the obvious conclusion. Crowley glared them away, then turned to the bastard who was stalking his angel.
"Sorry to interrupt, Azi. I didn't know you'd get to the party this early." Crowley paused and met the angel's eyes from behind his shades. "I was hoping," Crowley said in a meaningful way. "To continue our... discussion... from yesterday." Aziraphale, of course, hadn't caught the inference from his tone at all, merely cocking his head in puzzlement. He was thinking that there really wasn't much left to discuss about the usefulness of introducing the legions of Heaven to the game of cricket.
But the man caught the tone and what Crowley was implying about their "discussion." Unfortunately, he'd decided not to give up Aziraphale so easily. He turned to the angel and gave him a longing look. "I was thinking maybe you and I could go back to my flat. I have another guitar there I just know you'd love."
Aziraphale seemed to be thoughtfully considering this, and damned if Crowley was going to allow the angel to agree to this blatant proposal. Crowley took the extra step needed to reach Aziraphale, grabbed the angel by the shoulders to set him on his feet, then crushed their lips together.
The angel stood completely still against him, but Crowley had ignited something he hadn't really meant to. He groaned into the angel's mouth, slowing the kiss as his brain told him he'd quite made his point already, thank you, and that it was now well past time to stop, to back away, to end this before it became a need too great to ignore.
When he finally managed to release his friend, Crowley was breathless, lost. The shocked, astonished look on Aziraphale's face was not doing much good either. The guitar wielding bastard entirely forgotten, Crowley turned on his heel and left. He managed to walk out of the club like a normal human being before using a mode of transportation much quicker than human feet to get the Hell away from that place.
The park was deserted. Not even the ducks were in evidence, and this time it wasn't because Crowley was pinning them all under water. On the ground was a pair of broken sunglasses, which showed the sort of damage a violent impact with the pavement might have caused. A single figure was hunched forward on a park bench, curled up as though trying to stop a gut wound from bleeding him to death.
Crowley had been cursing himself for about ten minutes straight, despite the fact that damning a demon was a bit redundant. Why, oh why, had he bared his feelings like that? Demons, Crowley decided fervently, were not made to deal with vulnerability. He'd never felt so lost. Hell. If any of his infernal comrades had been watching that last bit and had enough wits to realize that Crowley could hardly be baiting the angel when he was himself head-over-heels for the angel, they'd use this vulnerable spot to torture him eternally.
He knew when someone else approached, he knew who it was, and he knew he could never unclench from this position to meet his angel's eyes.
"Crowley," the angel said, concerned. There was a long, motionless pause. Crowley pushed his anguish away long enough to wonder what in Heaven Aziraphale was thinking. Or perhaps he'd gone away?
Then he felt the subtle shift in the bench as Aziraphale sat beside him. When he spoke, his voice held embarrassment so clearly Crowley could almost see the look on his face. "Er. Crowley, can I ask you something?"
Here it was. And the damnedest part was that Crowley wouldn't be able to lie. He'd just tell him, flat out and truthful for every heavenly and demonic being in the universe to eavesdrop upon, that despite the fact that he was a demon damnit and demons couldn't... that he was undeniably, inevitably, impossibly...
"Crowley, was that young man... hitting... on me?"
Crowley was shocked into sitting up and staring at Aziraphale. After a moment, it occurred to him that he was saved after all. "Er. That is. Yes."
Aziraphale colored prettily. "I can't imagine why..." he murmured.
Crowley couldn't help it. He started laughing. He was picturing Aziraphale practically draped across the man's lap, reaching to pluck the guitar strings. Aziraphale and his love of stringed instruments...
"Perhaps you should stick to harps," Crowley managed, gasping.
Aziraphale smiled, amused at Crowley's rare, happy laughter. "Perhaps so." He looked closely at Crowley then, and Crowley's laughter vanished. He couldn't look away, despite the quick realization that meeting Aziraphale's penetrating blue eyes without the barrier of his sunglasses was uncomfortably intimate. Crowley swallowed nervously and wondered seriously if Aziraphale was reading everything he had almost told him from his gaze.
Aziraphale looked down shyly. "I'm just grateful you stopped things before I found myself in a situation my superiors might have frowned upon. You knew the whole hurt-feelings-routine would distract me from that boy and allow me to escape before he did something truly embarrassing. That was quite brilliant of you, Crowley. Bloody brilliant," the angel repeated, meeting Crowley's yellow eyes.
Crowley's breath caught in his throat at the look in the angel's eyes. Was he speaking only for those whose ears might be turned their way? Because damned if the angel wasn't more perceptive than Crowley gave him credit for. He knew, damn it. And if he knew...
Before Crowley could panic, Aziraphale leaned in to kiss him, abruptly stopping all ability to form cogent thoughts. Crowley froze in place, responding slowly to the angel's tentative kiss. His first kiss, Crowley realized, then gasped as the angel caught on quickly and kissed him more purposefully. The angel's hands were at his sides, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened and Crowley felt the last of his self-control slip away.
The angel pulled away, breathing quickly, but didn't remove his hands from where they were clenched around Crowley's hips. Crowley collected himself, swallowed the desire that had taken hold of him, and met Aziraphale's slightly dazed gaze. "You are bloody brilliant," the angel said, in a quite different tone of voice.
Crowley grinned at the compliment and leaned in to lay his cheek along the angel's, whispering in his ear. "So are you."
Aziraphale shivered. In a low voice, he whispered back, "I can't... you know... and we don't have any idea who might be watching..."
Crowley pulled in a deep breath. "Right," he said, face still pressed close to Aziraphale's.
"Heavens, Crowley! Don't sound so disappointed and depressed like that. I can't take it," Aziraphale murmured.
"Then take me," the demon countered, desperation escaping into his tone though he'd meant only for humor to show through.
Aziraphale kissed his temple, quickly, afraid to linger, and pulled fully away so he was no longer touching the demon. Crowley pulled himself together so he might take the rejection with a bit of his pride left in one piece.
"Let's... go back to the party..." Aziraphale said slowly.
Visions of dancing to heavy metal with his arms full of angel filled Crowley's head as a lazy grin split his face. "Yes. Let's."
By: vampfire
Disclaimer: No profit is being made from this, obviously. Gaiman and Pratchett own all the characters.
Summary: Crowley hopes to get in some dance time with a certain angel at a party. Slash. Crow/Azi.
Crowley made his way through the club to a private room that'd been let out for the party, whistling a blasphemous tune with his forked tongue and happier than he'd been in at least a decade. Tonight he'd be surrounded by the vices of humanity. There would be smoking and drinking and a host of improper sexual situations, and in the middle of it all would be he, Crowley, and the most unlikely individual on the planet to be in one of the city's seedier clubs, Aziraphale.
Crowley had been relishing thoughts of dancing with Aziraphale, not in the manner the angel might have imagined when he'd accepted the invitation to attend this birthday party, but in the totally intimate, primal way this latest generation of humanity danced. For an entire week since the both of them had received invitations to Adam Young's surprise eighteenth birthday party thrown by his friends, Crowley had fantasized about dancing with Aziraphale. He would give him some time to adjust at first, out of courtesy, and because angels didn't quite pick up rhythm the way a demon could. But then he would close the gap between them, fold his arms around the angel, let their bodies scrape against each other as the harsh music filled their movements... Eventually it would end, of course, and Aziraphale would remark days later how educational a cultural experience that had been, and Crowley would get hot with the memory but never suggest that it meant anything more to him than it had to the oblivious angel.
But in the meantime, there was the entire night to enjoy. And an angel to pursue, not out of any desire to corrupt him, but because Crowley had finally admitted to himself just how much he needed the bloody halo- wearing, do-good-ing, hymn-singing old bugger.
Now that the door to the room was actually in sight, Crowley couldn't help but grin openly at the sudden mental image of Aziraphale having arrived before him, standing even now amidst a revelry neither Heaven nor Hell could hope to imitate, with that adorably embarrassed and surprised expression on his face.
Crowley pulled open the door and froze. He stood completely motionless from shock. Then anger, rage, filled him like flood waters rushing through a gorge. He let the anger flow through him until he could feel himself losing control of his human shape. He knew the trembling sensations ripping through his body would in only a moment result in a shift to his true form. A form as promising as a bottomless hole, as welcoming as the Grim Reaper, as cheerful as a damned soul in the seventh circle of Hell. A form that would quite possibly destroy the minds of all the people blithely talking and dancing in the room when they caught sight of it. And A. J. Crowley couldn't have cared less.
"Mr. Crowley, er... there are a couple veins in your face that are about to burst. Maybe you ought to sit down?"
Crowley turned his attention to the familiar voice of Adam's friend, Pepper. His attention was diverted a moment as he realized with a start that he hadn't seen the girl for years and that, well, he shouldn't probably call her a girl anymore. She, like Adam, was eighteen years old now, and looked it. Pepper smiled uncertainly at him then thought to look along his line of sight, after which she immediately grasped the problem. "Oh."
Crowley could feel his anger build again, though at least he'd gained control over his outward form due to her interruption.
"Er," Pepper said. She seemed to think for a moment and her face colored slightly in embarrassment as she put two and two together. "Mr. Crowley... instead of standing here having a heart attack about it, why don't you, you know, do something about it?" With that the girl flushed deeper, looking younger and more innocent than she was.
But Crowley's enraged expression had faded away as he began to return to normal. The tide of rage tipped away from enough of his brain cells to allow the formation of a Course of Action. Sneering, he launched himself into the crowd, confidence restored.
"Azi!" he said, loud enough for the pair to hear him over the loud throbbing music of the club. The man who sat beside Aziraphale looked up, mild annoyance flickering in his eyes at the sight of Crowley advancing toward his formerly private conversation with the angel.
"Hi, Crowley!" Aziraphale returned, gaily. He appeared not the least aware that there was a half-naked man sitting at his side with his arm over the back of Aziraphale's chair. "You've simply got to see this instrument!"
Crowley frowned, but inwardly sighed in relief. As improbable as it was, part of him had still wondered whether Aziraphale was purposefully inviting the flirtation this time. But no, the innocent angel simply had no idea.
Crowley dutifully approached to study the man's "instrument." The guy wore too many rings in his ears, his brown hair in a trendy cut, and a scowl that informed Crowley he didn't take well to being interrupted. He wore no shirt, displaying his strong build to full advantage. The bastard was apparently a member of a band that was not currently playing. He held an electric guitar across his lap, with the requisite boxes of electronics arranged on the stage behind him. Also across his lap, or damn near close to it, was Aziraphale, intrigued with the sounds the strings of the guitar could make. Crowley seethed with anger as the angel plucked a few strings to show to him, but when Aziraphale looked up for Crowley's reaction to this novel instrument, Crowley couldn't help but sigh at naive, innocent, wonderful Aziraphale.
The two were the only ones sitting on the edge of the stage. Crowley turned at the sound of a giggle as two scantily-dressed young women surveyed the guitarist and the blonde angel and came to the obvious conclusion. Crowley glared them away, then turned to the bastard who was stalking his angel.
"Sorry to interrupt, Azi. I didn't know you'd get to the party this early." Crowley paused and met the angel's eyes from behind his shades. "I was hoping," Crowley said in a meaningful way. "To continue our... discussion... from yesterday." Aziraphale, of course, hadn't caught the inference from his tone at all, merely cocking his head in puzzlement. He was thinking that there really wasn't much left to discuss about the usefulness of introducing the legions of Heaven to the game of cricket.
But the man caught the tone and what Crowley was implying about their "discussion." Unfortunately, he'd decided not to give up Aziraphale so easily. He turned to the angel and gave him a longing look. "I was thinking maybe you and I could go back to my flat. I have another guitar there I just know you'd love."
Aziraphale seemed to be thoughtfully considering this, and damned if Crowley was going to allow the angel to agree to this blatant proposal. Crowley took the extra step needed to reach Aziraphale, grabbed the angel by the shoulders to set him on his feet, then crushed their lips together.
The angel stood completely still against him, but Crowley had ignited something he hadn't really meant to. He groaned into the angel's mouth, slowing the kiss as his brain told him he'd quite made his point already, thank you, and that it was now well past time to stop, to back away, to end this before it became a need too great to ignore.
When he finally managed to release his friend, Crowley was breathless, lost. The shocked, astonished look on Aziraphale's face was not doing much good either. The guitar wielding bastard entirely forgotten, Crowley turned on his heel and left. He managed to walk out of the club like a normal human being before using a mode of transportation much quicker than human feet to get the Hell away from that place.
The park was deserted. Not even the ducks were in evidence, and this time it wasn't because Crowley was pinning them all under water. On the ground was a pair of broken sunglasses, which showed the sort of damage a violent impact with the pavement might have caused. A single figure was hunched forward on a park bench, curled up as though trying to stop a gut wound from bleeding him to death.
Crowley had been cursing himself for about ten minutes straight, despite the fact that damning a demon was a bit redundant. Why, oh why, had he bared his feelings like that? Demons, Crowley decided fervently, were not made to deal with vulnerability. He'd never felt so lost. Hell. If any of his infernal comrades had been watching that last bit and had enough wits to realize that Crowley could hardly be baiting the angel when he was himself head-over-heels for the angel, they'd use this vulnerable spot to torture him eternally.
He knew when someone else approached, he knew who it was, and he knew he could never unclench from this position to meet his angel's eyes.
"Crowley," the angel said, concerned. There was a long, motionless pause. Crowley pushed his anguish away long enough to wonder what in Heaven Aziraphale was thinking. Or perhaps he'd gone away?
Then he felt the subtle shift in the bench as Aziraphale sat beside him. When he spoke, his voice held embarrassment so clearly Crowley could almost see the look on his face. "Er. Crowley, can I ask you something?"
Here it was. And the damnedest part was that Crowley wouldn't be able to lie. He'd just tell him, flat out and truthful for every heavenly and demonic being in the universe to eavesdrop upon, that despite the fact that he was a demon damnit and demons couldn't... that he was undeniably, inevitably, impossibly...
"Crowley, was that young man... hitting... on me?"
Crowley was shocked into sitting up and staring at Aziraphale. After a moment, it occurred to him that he was saved after all. "Er. That is. Yes."
Aziraphale colored prettily. "I can't imagine why..." he murmured.
Crowley couldn't help it. He started laughing. He was picturing Aziraphale practically draped across the man's lap, reaching to pluck the guitar strings. Aziraphale and his love of stringed instruments...
"Perhaps you should stick to harps," Crowley managed, gasping.
Aziraphale smiled, amused at Crowley's rare, happy laughter. "Perhaps so." He looked closely at Crowley then, and Crowley's laughter vanished. He couldn't look away, despite the quick realization that meeting Aziraphale's penetrating blue eyes without the barrier of his sunglasses was uncomfortably intimate. Crowley swallowed nervously and wondered seriously if Aziraphale was reading everything he had almost told him from his gaze.
Aziraphale looked down shyly. "I'm just grateful you stopped things before I found myself in a situation my superiors might have frowned upon. You knew the whole hurt-feelings-routine would distract me from that boy and allow me to escape before he did something truly embarrassing. That was quite brilliant of you, Crowley. Bloody brilliant," the angel repeated, meeting Crowley's yellow eyes.
Crowley's breath caught in his throat at the look in the angel's eyes. Was he speaking only for those whose ears might be turned their way? Because damned if the angel wasn't more perceptive than Crowley gave him credit for. He knew, damn it. And if he knew...
Before Crowley could panic, Aziraphale leaned in to kiss him, abruptly stopping all ability to form cogent thoughts. Crowley froze in place, responding slowly to the angel's tentative kiss. His first kiss, Crowley realized, then gasped as the angel caught on quickly and kissed him more purposefully. The angel's hands were at his sides, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened and Crowley felt the last of his self-control slip away.
The angel pulled away, breathing quickly, but didn't remove his hands from where they were clenched around Crowley's hips. Crowley collected himself, swallowed the desire that had taken hold of him, and met Aziraphale's slightly dazed gaze. "You are bloody brilliant," the angel said, in a quite different tone of voice.
Crowley grinned at the compliment and leaned in to lay his cheek along the angel's, whispering in his ear. "So are you."
Aziraphale shivered. In a low voice, he whispered back, "I can't... you know... and we don't have any idea who might be watching..."
Crowley pulled in a deep breath. "Right," he said, face still pressed close to Aziraphale's.
"Heavens, Crowley! Don't sound so disappointed and depressed like that. I can't take it," Aziraphale murmured.
"Then take me," the demon countered, desperation escaping into his tone though he'd meant only for humor to show through.
Aziraphale kissed his temple, quickly, afraid to linger, and pulled fully away so he was no longer touching the demon. Crowley pulled himself together so he might take the rejection with a bit of his pride left in one piece.
"Let's... go back to the party..." Aziraphale said slowly.
Visions of dancing to heavy metal with his arms full of angel filled Crowley's head as a lazy grin split his face. "Yes. Let's."