Mopfic Entry.
Jul. 10th, 2003 01:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nishatalithaBecause I can. And because I’ve been reading Good Omens and assorted associated fic. Let’s see how badly I can write the characters, shall I?
The first thing that someone entering Aziraphale’s bookstore would have see was a mop. Not just any ordinary mop, but the latest in common yellow-and-green sponge goodness. In fact, if they weren’t careful, they would trip over the mop. Crowley liked doing things like that to unsuspecting people.
He also liked doing things to the angel that let him get away with making perfectly harmless household appliances like mops a hazard to the common passerby.
“Not the rubber gloves,” yelped Azriaphale indignantly. “They’re new. I brought them just last Tuesday.”
There was a silence, both of them remembering a Tuesday when the portents were much dire than anything to do with the misuse of rubber gloves.
Then the angel reached for the demon and dragged him down again.
Corporeal bodies could be such fun.
Even when, as now, they weren’t precisely what a casual observer would call human.
Wings sprouted from each pair of shoulder-blades – eight in total. All of wings were brightly coloured. Neither had been able to understand why angel wings were always painted white until thingymabob had split light, and shown that white was made up of all colours. Angels – and demons – with their ability to see light on all spectrums, saw multi-coloured wings, rather than white.
Two pairs of wings were considerably tidier than the other two pairs.
“Look, you,” snarled Crowley (an ability that came easily to him) “Hold still. Use whatever means necessary, you said, and if sacrificing these cheap rubber gloves is the means, then the cheap rubber gloves will be sacrificed.”
Azriaphale went silent. Crowley went and picked up the mop. No passerbys had tripped over it, and as he went back into the kitchen, all the doors swung shut behind him.
They started again. Feathers flew everywhere, as both immortals discarded the physical trappings of the earthly world – or at least the clothes that impeded movement. Slippery skin touched slippery skin and hands encased in said rubber gloves ran over brightly coloured wings.
They didn’t clash, of course. Azriaphale would never allow that, not here, in his place. The door which lead into the store locked firmly to prevent water leakage into the shop. Crowley checked the hose connections – it would probably be against the terms of the Arrangement if he got water all over the angel’s books. There is nothing quite as enraged as a maddened book collector.
“Now,” he purred, (a sound that would make full grown cats flee under the nearest bed), “Where were we?”
Azriaphale meekly turned his back and presented his wings for cleaning.
This was the third time that they’d tried this. They kept getting distracted. Being immortal, and the primary representatives of their kinds on earth, neither of them quite saw why they shouldn’t look as attractive as possible.
Crowley had gotten distracted with the graceful sweep of Azriaphale’s back down to smooth curve of his buttocks, and how the angel quivered beneath his fingernails. He’d made a lewd suggestion (have to keep the hand in, dontcha know?) and to his surprise, the rather drunk Azriaphale had taken him up on it. It had lead to him taking the angel across on the neatly made bed. It also meant that the bed clothes got scorched, and the wings needed washing. That was the first time.
The second time was in the bathroom, when Azriaphale, having suggested that the bathroom was the most appropriate place to wash wings, had accidentally on purpose stripped the both of them, and the resulting bout of wild hot sex had made the bathroom unusable without replumbing and both of their wings needed washing, and Azriaphale’s desperately needed repining.
This time, though, they were determined to get it right. Not having a big enough garden (and due to the fact that it was bloody freezing outside), Azriaphale had suggested the kitchen, and the hose, and had offered the mop (unlike Crowley’s, this one had actually been used) to scrub off the stains on their bodies and for a downward motion on their feathers.
The hose made it a waterfight, and the kitchen was destroyed when they got distracted (Crowley noticed the colours in the water sliding over Azriaphale’s body) again.
“We could try your place?” Azriaphale suggested. “My wings really need grooming now. And cleaning.” He plucked a random loose feather from one of Crowley’s wings and stroked it down the demon’s chest. “Or we could stay here for a bit longer and finish destroying my kitchen.”
Crowley seized on this idea with alacrity. No point in ruining his place when this one would do just as well. He picked up the mop again.
~End
There you are. Can I go write Chimes now?
The first thing that someone entering Aziraphale’s bookstore would have see was a mop. Not just any ordinary mop, but the latest in common yellow-and-green sponge goodness. In fact, if they weren’t careful, they would trip over the mop. Crowley liked doing things like that to unsuspecting people.
He also liked doing things to the angel that let him get away with making perfectly harmless household appliances like mops a hazard to the common passerby.
“Not the rubber gloves,” yelped Azriaphale indignantly. “They’re new. I brought them just last Tuesday.”
There was a silence, both of them remembering a Tuesday when the portents were much dire than anything to do with the misuse of rubber gloves.
Then the angel reached for the demon and dragged him down again.
Corporeal bodies could be such fun.
Even when, as now, they weren’t precisely what a casual observer would call human.
Wings sprouted from each pair of shoulder-blades – eight in total. All of wings were brightly coloured. Neither had been able to understand why angel wings were always painted white until thingymabob had split light, and shown that white was made up of all colours. Angels – and demons – with their ability to see light on all spectrums, saw multi-coloured wings, rather than white.
Two pairs of wings were considerably tidier than the other two pairs.
“Look, you,” snarled Crowley (an ability that came easily to him) “Hold still. Use whatever means necessary, you said, and if sacrificing these cheap rubber gloves is the means, then the cheap rubber gloves will be sacrificed.”
Azriaphale went silent. Crowley went and picked up the mop. No passerbys had tripped over it, and as he went back into the kitchen, all the doors swung shut behind him.
They started again. Feathers flew everywhere, as both immortals discarded the physical trappings of the earthly world – or at least the clothes that impeded movement. Slippery skin touched slippery skin and hands encased in said rubber gloves ran over brightly coloured wings.
They didn’t clash, of course. Azriaphale would never allow that, not here, in his place. The door which lead into the store locked firmly to prevent water leakage into the shop. Crowley checked the hose connections – it would probably be against the terms of the Arrangement if he got water all over the angel’s books. There is nothing quite as enraged as a maddened book collector.
“Now,” he purred, (a sound that would make full grown cats flee under the nearest bed), “Where were we?”
Azriaphale meekly turned his back and presented his wings for cleaning.
This was the third time that they’d tried this. They kept getting distracted. Being immortal, and the primary representatives of their kinds on earth, neither of them quite saw why they shouldn’t look as attractive as possible.
Crowley had gotten distracted with the graceful sweep of Azriaphale’s back down to smooth curve of his buttocks, and how the angel quivered beneath his fingernails. He’d made a lewd suggestion (have to keep the hand in, dontcha know?) and to his surprise, the rather drunk Azriaphale had taken him up on it. It had lead to him taking the angel across on the neatly made bed. It also meant that the bed clothes got scorched, and the wings needed washing. That was the first time.
The second time was in the bathroom, when Azriaphale, having suggested that the bathroom was the most appropriate place to wash wings, had accidentally on purpose stripped the both of them, and the resulting bout of wild hot sex had made the bathroom unusable without replumbing and both of their wings needed washing, and Azriaphale’s desperately needed repining.
This time, though, they were determined to get it right. Not having a big enough garden (and due to the fact that it was bloody freezing outside), Azriaphale had suggested the kitchen, and the hose, and had offered the mop (unlike Crowley’s, this one had actually been used) to scrub off the stains on their bodies and for a downward motion on their feathers.
The hose made it a waterfight, and the kitchen was destroyed when they got distracted (Crowley noticed the colours in the water sliding over Azriaphale’s body) again.
“We could try your place?” Azriaphale suggested. “My wings really need grooming now. And cleaning.” He plucked a random loose feather from one of Crowley’s wings and stroked it down the demon’s chest. “Or we could stay here for a bit longer and finish destroying my kitchen.”
Crowley seized on this idea with alacrity. No point in ruining his place when this one would do just as well. He picked up the mop again.
~End
There you are. Can I go write Chimes now?