Anonymous asked:
marveliciousfanace answered:
I fried my brain doing this and the other prompt I was sent, so they’re not edited and I apologize if it’s garbage, but I actually had a ton of fun with this, so thank you. I went with the pda option, so people may want to skip this one if they don’t want to read slightly mature content (but not very mature. Crowley certainly isn’t).
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“He won’t go away!”
“Well, hello to you too, angel,” Crowley said, his grin audible even over the phone.
Aziraphale peered over his counter, where he’d been pretending to rummage for something, and glared at the offending man, who was currently eyeing a shelf of very expensive – and more importantly very rare – first edition playscripts with the air of someone who is looking for a price tag because they don’t want to seem caught out by the number when they purchase it. “He’s been here ages already,” Aziraphale hissed into the receiver. “Normally they would have given up by now, but he won’t go away.”
“Have you tried that thing you do where you breathe down his neck looking like a stern librarian?”
“Naturally,” Aziraphale sniffed. He knew how to run his own bookshop. “He just started asking me questions about different manuscripts! I’ve resorted to hidin- er, tactically surveying from behind the counter so he doesn’t keep trying to speak to me. He’s after the Wilde, I know he is.”
“You have plenty of Wilde,” Crowley said, with only a trace of bitterness. Oscar was a still a bit of a sore subject between the two of them. “Anyway, what are you suggesting I do?”
“I don’t know!” Aziraphale huffed. He peeked over the counter again. The would-be customer was running a finger along the shelves, like he had any right to touch them. Aziraphale resisted the very un-angelic temptation to snarl. “Just…come over and help me! Please!”
There was a pause as Crowley contemplated. Aziraphale prepared to resort to begging. He didn’t usually have to with Crowley, but needs must. In this case, however, needs didn’t, and Crowley finally said, “I’ll be over in a few.”
“Thank you,” Aziraphale sighed in relief, even as the receiver went dead. He snaked a hand up onto the counter to replace it, and decided the next few minutes – it wouldn’t take Crowley long to get there, no matter where he was in London, what with the way he drove – would be best spent under the counter. If Aziraphale made eye contact with the potential customer, he knew it would all be over.
He popped up when he heard the tinkle of the bell, relief flooding through his body as Crowley strolled into the shop, the door swinging shut behind him. He looked around leisurely, gaze pausing momentarily on the man, who stared back at him nervously, likely put out by Crowley’s dark glasses and general “no-good” vibe. Then Crowley’s gaze fell, very naturally, on Aziraphale. He brightened so realistically that even Aziraphale was impressed with his acting abilities. “Angel!” he exclaimed. “God, it’s been ages!”
Aziraphale opened his mouth, a slight crease furrowing his brow. What he meant to say was, “What do you mean, it’s been ages? I just saw you last week for dinner. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already. And it’s not like we don’t speak regularly on the phone. Unless you’re trying to make a scene, which I suppose is the more likely option, in which case ignore all that and I’ll play along, so long as it gets rid of him.”
What he actually said was, “Wha-mphf!”
Crowley had made it to the counter in two strides, hopped up over it in one bound, landed solidly on his feet on the other side, pushed the angel back against the wall with the skilful application of a hand on either hip, and crashed their lips together. That accounted for the initial sound Aziraphale made. The rather embarrassing moan that followed was caused by a very long, very flexible tongue sliding itself into Aziraphale’s open mouth and doing that thing, which he had once told Crowley, with no small amount of blushing, made making an effort redundant. In this particular moment, had Crowley not been holding him up, Aziraphale would have slid bonelessly to the floor. As it was, he was abruptly very weak in the knees.
Crowley moaned theatrically, sliding his hands a little farther back. “Fuck, I missed you, angel,” he said, loud enough that the man in the shop, who’d been pretending he hadn’t noticed what was going on behind the counter, couldn’t help but turn and look. Crowley pressed himself more firmly to Aziraphale’s front, sliding a knee between the angel’s legs and biting a careful row of kisses down his neck. “Did you miss me?”
“I- uh- oh-“ Aziraphale stuttered, his fingers clutching at a fistful of Crowley’s hair. His head fell back against the shelf behind him with a loud thunk.
“Mmm,” Crowley purred. “I think you did. I think you’re happy to see me. Unless that’s something else you’ve got in your pocket. Naughty, angel.”
“Crowley!” Aziraphale managed to form the word, and it even manged to almost sound scolding.
“That’s right,” Crowley nipped at an earlobe. “Say my name, angel. Bet I can make you scream it right here, bend you over the counter and-“
“Crowley!” Aziraphale said again, this time with much less difficultly and a good deal more shock. “We are not alone!”
Crowley pulled back just far enough to grin at him. “Aren’t we, though?”
Aziraphale blinked. He looked around the bookshop. It was empty. The bell, which he hadn’t heard go off, was swinging to a silent stop above the door. “Oh,” he said.
“You asked for help,” Crowley said. “I provided.”
“Yes, but…” Aziraphale trailed off. “Er, Crowley?”
“Yes, angel?”
“Your hands…if you could kindly remove them from my trousers-“
Crowley gave Aziraphale’s arse another squeeze. “You sure you want me to? I mean, he is gone and all.”
“Er…”
“And I did save your precious Wilde, didn’t I?”
“Yes, I suppose you did…”
“So,” Crowley wiggled his eyebrows. “What do you say you lock the door, and I do that other thing with my tongue that you like so much, hmm?”
Across the room, the lock clicked shut, and with a laugh, Crowley dropped to his knees.
cucumber-s
