For the record, this story is not totally my fault. Someone else posted the picture of drunk!Azrael on the LJ SEED community. I just… uh… decided that drunk!Azrael equaled willing-to-shag-Dullindal!Azrael.
People far worthier than I own SEED and all characters involved. But they won't write you random drunk pairings, so you should love me more than them.
Azrael's Best New Year Ever.
Murata Azrael was drunk. Very drunk.
Normally, he made a point of not drinking too much at parties (especially at parties with leading Earth and PLANT leaders where he wasn't supposed to express his utter hatred of all Coordinators, because that might start a war, and, while Blue Cosmos was rooting for a war, they needed a bit more time to prepare). He'd allow himself to get a little tipsy, then move on to the non-alcoholic drinks. Unfortunately, this New Year he'd gotten a bit I too /I tipsy before he moved on to the beverages that were I normally /I non-alcoholic, and failed to notice that the "punch" he was drinking was almost straight gin.
"You know," he confessed to the nearest young PLANT representative, "You people aren't that bad looking. Maybe there's something to be said for genetically manipulating you to be really, really hot. Do I know you? Hi, my name's Murata Azrael. I lead Blue Cosmos. We want to kill Coordinators, did you know? Yeah. But not you, I guess. You're kind of pretty. Do I know you? Hi, my name's Murata Azrael. I lead—"
"I'm Gilbert Dullindal," said the man. He had very nice hair, thought Azrael. Kind of like a woman's, but not really. On this guy, it just looked hot. And kind of fluffy. Azrael liked fluffy things. Cotton candy was nice. And those funky scarves that turned into shawls, he liked those. And this man's hair. Mm, fluffy. "We were introduced at the start of the party – director, what are doing?"
Azrarel had buried his head in the Coordinator's hair and was muttering something about I Mm, strawberry scented /I . "I'm smelling your hair," he said, as though this ought to be perfectly obvious. "Coordinators have pretty hair," he said. "All of you. That's one of the reason's I don't like you. Also, someone told me that on PLANT no one ever sends you those stupid e-mails about penis enlargement 'cause you were all already modified to not need that kind of thing, and I I hate /I spam like that. Is that true? Because if it's true, I'm totally going to arrange to nuke you guys or something, 'cause having less spam totally isn't fair."
"I've never gotten any of those e-mails." You know what? Azrael bet the Coordinator's mouth tasted like strawberries, just like his hair smelled. If someone smelled like strawberries, they probably tasted like strawberries, too. Azrael loved strawberries. And strawberry juice! He downed another cup of punch.
"So it's true, then? You guys all got set at birth?"
"Well," said the Coordinator (and Azrael noticed, leaning in really, really close to the Coordinator's mouth, that maybe the guy would taste more like alcohol than strawberries, because that sure I smelled /I like alcohol), "would you like to find out?"
And then they got a room.
Murata Azrael woke up the next morning with a sore ass, a splitting hangover, and a renewed hatred of Coordinators. Damn those bastards and their lack of spam.