No, said Aziraphale, it's ineffable.

Anonymous asked:

prompt idea? azira in vintage lingerie that makes crowley weak in the knees even if it isn't victoria's secret-esque, because it's absolutely, entirely aziraphale ...

This got longer than I expected, but I’m really glad I got the opportunity to work with this prompt. It also got very explicit, but the bit in the post is all SFW (you have to click the AO3 link to get to the rest). Hopefully it’s something along the lines of what you were looking for :)

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If Crowley was being completely honest - although a demon could never truly be completely honest, just in the vicinity of it – he hated Aziraphale’s wardrobe. It wasn’t that he hated Aziraphale or Aziraphale’s clothes or Aziraphale in the clothes. It was more the concept of Aziraphale’s wardrobe that bothered him. The angel’s wardrobe was home to a lot of items that had barely been stylish at the time they’d been made and most certainly weren’t now. This was in part because Aziraphale preferred to buy his clothes and took good care of them so they could last quite a while, and partly because his style itself changed with the speed of a particularly slow-moving glacier. It infuriated Crowley, who liked to believe the kind of human he pretended to be was modern, sleek, and up to date on all the latest fashion trends. Being seen with someone who wouldn’t have looked entirely out of place in a centuries-old historical painting was bad for that image.

“I don’t see what the trouble is,” Aziraphale had said on more than one occasion. “It’s not as if you’re the one wearing the clothes. And I like the way I dress, so I don’t see any reason to change it.”

And Crowley had to admit, unfashionable or not, what Aziraphale wore suited him. The angel had just enough of a timeless aura that he managed to make out of date things feel vintage when he was wearing them, rather than merely old. So Crowley kept his complaining about Aziraphale’s wardrobe to a minimum. Just enough to keep up appearances.

In light of all that, when Aziraphale asked Crowley over for a bit of assistance with his wardrobe, Crowley was more than happy to oblige. As he made his way up the stairs to Aziraphale’s flat, his head was full of images of things he could potentially entice the angel into wearing. Aziraphale would never go for skinny jeans or leather pants, not even in white or cream print, but Crowley was willing to bet that with a little luck, he could maybe make a convincing argument for something with less layers.

He stepped over the threshold into Aziraphale’s flat. Upon hearing the door close behind Crowley, Aziraphale called “In here!” from the bedroom, and Crowley followed the sound. And then he stopped in the doorway, because apparently when it came to layers or lack thereof, Aziraphale had already gotten the memo. Crowley’s jaw dropped, and he stared.

Aziraphale blushed and ran a self-conscious hand down his side, smoothing out the fabric. “What do you think?” he asked. “I was going through my closet, and I hoped to get your opinion.”

Crowley’s jaw snapped shut. He’d forgotten to blink, but he didn’t let that worry him. It left him free to goggle.

What the angel was wearing was lingerie, although Crowley doubted it would be considered sexy by anyone today. Frankly, he’d been shocked something like that had ever been considered sexy, even when it was the height of fashion. It was held up by thin spaghetti straps, true, and the top was low enough that Crowley could see a good deal of Aziraphale’s chest, but that was about the extent to which the piece could be considered enticing. It wasn’t form-fitting. It hung around Aziraphale’s body in bunches, although it did pull taught in places around his stomach. It wasn’t sheer. The white fabric was thick enough that there was no chance of Crowley glimpsing so much as a peaked nipple. It had bits of fringe hanging off the ends, not sexy fringe that draped seductively around the crotch or tassled the chest, but neat little ties that would have looked as equally at home on a handmade quilt as on a piece of underwear. And least sex-friendly of all, as far as Crowley was concerned, was the fact that the bottom half formed two distinct leg holes with no sign of flaps or other opportunistic openings. The style was called closed-crotch for a reason, after all. It fell to just above Aziraphale’s knees and it was, all in all, one of the least sexy bits of lingerie Crowley had ever encountered.

It was technically “women’s lingerie” by design, but clothing labels like “male” or “female” had never particularly bothered Crowley or Aziraphale, so that was not why Crowley continued to stare, although the equally feminine sheer silk stockings clinging to Aziraphale’s calves were complicating the matter. Crowley was staring because, in spite of his best efforts to be repulsed by such a hideously executed piece of underwear, he was actually finding it rather…alluring.

“Well?” Aziraphale asked, a note of uncertainty sliding into his voice as Crowley remained silent. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

It should have been. Holy Hell, it should have been, but it wasn’t. The piece was so infuriatingly Aziraphale that the angel could have been wearing a pinup bikini and wouldn’t have looked half as attractive. It suited him, the bastard, like every other blasted piece of clothing in his closet suited him, and one of these days Crowley was really going to have to swallow his pride and admit that there actually wasn’t anything wrong with what Aziraphale liked wearing because there was nothing really wrong with being unfashionable so long as your style was you.

(read the rest on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18542245)

See, that’s what the app is perfect for.