***Okay, please don't be mad about me at this one. A demon made me do
it.***
Not the Ritz
This was not the Ritz, but it was still quite nice. Aziraphale liked the place because it was clean, quiet, and very nice in an understated, expensive sort of way. And because you could get some of the best vintage wines there, served straight to your rooms—along with the meal. They did very good food, as well. He and Crowley would head upstairs eventually. He tried not to think about it, but it really was much easier to get pissed in private, without all these humans about, making him feel inhibited. But he liked the hotel. All was tasteful and elegant and soft. He wondered what Crowley saw in the place.
What Crowley liked about this hotel was, in part, that it was tasteful and elegant and you really could find some rare and shockingly good libations there. But also because the staff was very discreet (a sure sign that bad things were being done), that it's base income was actually another sort of business altogether (one that Crowley approved of on principal), and that if you were a demon, there was a good chance of wandering about and seeing just what the staff was being so discreet about. And that could be quite amusing. Especially since Aziraphale had *no idea* what was going on, or of the proliferation of activities involving wiles going on right in his immediate vicinity that he should be thwarting. Which meant Crowley got to see a bad job well done, and tempt the angel into a nice bottle of Villa de Capezzana Carmignano, oh yes, wouldn't a little Tuscan be just right, here? And then maybe they could move on to a Campaccio Terrabianca, and by then the world would seem a very nice place to both of them, regardless of whether it was disgustingly good and boring, or delightfully errant and evil. And perhaps, if he were doing an especially good job of it, he could tempt the angel into a wing-rub. And all this without really breaking the Arrangement, because he never had to lift a finger in any case...
They passed a little table where two men were sitting and dining, and he saw Aziraphale smile approvingly. Crowley had to hide a snigger. "Don't tell me you condone that sort of thing, angel?"
Aziraphale looked sulky. "I don't see why not. They are, after all, both on our side. I even heard someone say God gave one of them his job. Great liberators, both of them." He smiled again. "And obviously great friends, too."
Crowley stared at him, almost speechless by the angel's naïveté. "Don't tell me you actually believed one single word that just came out of your mouth!" he said, aghast. "They're both...awful beasts, really," he shrugged, giving up. It wouldn't do to get into an argument about politics this early on; they were both on opposite sides and always would be, and Aziraphale always got so cranky discussing it, it would quite ruin the evening. Still, it *would* be nice if just occasionally the angel even knew what he was talking about. *Opposite sides, indeed,* Crowley thought, shuddering. *He doesn't even realize which side he's supporting when he says things like that!*
Just then, they saw one of the men reach over and put his hand over his dining companion's. He leaned over and muttered something in his friend's ear, leering a little, and they both got up from the table, laughing quietly. It was not a brotherly gesture when the first man, so obviously American, threw his arm around the other man's shoulders and led him from the table.
"But that's!" Aziraphale choked. "That's just! That's just not right..." he finished lamely. "I didn't know they were like *that.*"
"Oh, don't be such a hypocrite, angel," Crowley rolled his eyes, earning himself an effeminate slap on the arm that any cat-fighting schoolgirl would have been proud to produce. It actually stung a little. "Oh, come on. You can't say you didn't have a *clue* about this. Everyone jokes about it."
"Well, yes," Aziraphale swallowed guiltily. "I had heard...I had heard the one called certain things...like the other's...the other's... you know. Erm. Female dog." He was blushing a bit now, even embarrassed from talking around a swear word.
Crowley shook his head, pained. A sober Aziraphale could be so dull, especially after having been faced with something he might have thwarted. "For Go—for Sa—oh. For John Lennon's sake,* angel, why do you have to get all stuffy about it? They all do it, you know. They're hormonally driven. They can't help themselves."
"Oh, yes they can," the angel insisted. "They're given free will. Besides, they're the leaders of the free world, not a couple of teenaged schoolboys. And they always talk about morals!" he moaned. "And doing the right thing!"
Crowley sniggered at that. "They'll be doing the right thing right now," he muttered. "They'll be doing it as long as men their age can keep it up. Oh, come on. Don't get all pouty about it. You're only cuter when your lower lip sticks out like that, it doesn't lend weight to any arguments and it doesn't make anyone want to cheer you up."
Aziraphale sucked his lower lip back in, flushed. "Look, Crowley, this really is something I ought to thwart. Nip in the bud, so to speak." He gave a shudder.
"Oh, forget about them, angel. Let's go upstairs and have some wine. And dinner! I'll buy you dinner, how's that, and then you can forget about those nasty, evil politicians, hmmm?" And gave the angel a wicked grin, leading him upstairs by the arm. "And maybe later on a nice wing-rub..." he continued, more or less *sotto voce.*
"Mmm, a wing-rub *would* be nice," Aziraphale murmured in dulcet cadence, leaning into Crowley just a bit. Crowley stopped, opened his mouth to correct the other being—it was meant to be *his* wing-rub, after all—but then thought better of it. He supposed giving up one little wing-rub was a small price to pay for not having to listen to the angel whine about affairs of state, after all.
*Well, he *did say* they were bigger than Jesus. **P.S. This was my first GO fic, I hoped you liked and weren't too offended. Please review!
Not the Ritz
This was not the Ritz, but it was still quite nice. Aziraphale liked the place because it was clean, quiet, and very nice in an understated, expensive sort of way. And because you could get some of the best vintage wines there, served straight to your rooms—along with the meal. They did very good food, as well. He and Crowley would head upstairs eventually. He tried not to think about it, but it really was much easier to get pissed in private, without all these humans about, making him feel inhibited. But he liked the hotel. All was tasteful and elegant and soft. He wondered what Crowley saw in the place.
What Crowley liked about this hotel was, in part, that it was tasteful and elegant and you really could find some rare and shockingly good libations there. But also because the staff was very discreet (a sure sign that bad things were being done), that it's base income was actually another sort of business altogether (one that Crowley approved of on principal), and that if you were a demon, there was a good chance of wandering about and seeing just what the staff was being so discreet about. And that could be quite amusing. Especially since Aziraphale had *no idea* what was going on, or of the proliferation of activities involving wiles going on right in his immediate vicinity that he should be thwarting. Which meant Crowley got to see a bad job well done, and tempt the angel into a nice bottle of Villa de Capezzana Carmignano, oh yes, wouldn't a little Tuscan be just right, here? And then maybe they could move on to a Campaccio Terrabianca, and by then the world would seem a very nice place to both of them, regardless of whether it was disgustingly good and boring, or delightfully errant and evil. And perhaps, if he were doing an especially good job of it, he could tempt the angel into a wing-rub. And all this without really breaking the Arrangement, because he never had to lift a finger in any case...
They passed a little table where two men were sitting and dining, and he saw Aziraphale smile approvingly. Crowley had to hide a snigger. "Don't tell me you condone that sort of thing, angel?"
Aziraphale looked sulky. "I don't see why not. They are, after all, both on our side. I even heard someone say God gave one of them his job. Great liberators, both of them." He smiled again. "And obviously great friends, too."
Crowley stared at him, almost speechless by the angel's naïveté. "Don't tell me you actually believed one single word that just came out of your mouth!" he said, aghast. "They're both...awful beasts, really," he shrugged, giving up. It wouldn't do to get into an argument about politics this early on; they were both on opposite sides and always would be, and Aziraphale always got so cranky discussing it, it would quite ruin the evening. Still, it *would* be nice if just occasionally the angel even knew what he was talking about. *Opposite sides, indeed,* Crowley thought, shuddering. *He doesn't even realize which side he's supporting when he says things like that!*
Just then, they saw one of the men reach over and put his hand over his dining companion's. He leaned over and muttered something in his friend's ear, leering a little, and they both got up from the table, laughing quietly. It was not a brotherly gesture when the first man, so obviously American, threw his arm around the other man's shoulders and led him from the table.
"But that's!" Aziraphale choked. "That's just! That's just not right..." he finished lamely. "I didn't know they were like *that.*"
"Oh, don't be such a hypocrite, angel," Crowley rolled his eyes, earning himself an effeminate slap on the arm that any cat-fighting schoolgirl would have been proud to produce. It actually stung a little. "Oh, come on. You can't say you didn't have a *clue* about this. Everyone jokes about it."
"Well, yes," Aziraphale swallowed guiltily. "I had heard...I had heard the one called certain things...like the other's...the other's... you know. Erm. Female dog." He was blushing a bit now, even embarrassed from talking around a swear word.
Crowley shook his head, pained. A sober Aziraphale could be so dull, especially after having been faced with something he might have thwarted. "For Go—for Sa—oh. For John Lennon's sake,* angel, why do you have to get all stuffy about it? They all do it, you know. They're hormonally driven. They can't help themselves."
"Oh, yes they can," the angel insisted. "They're given free will. Besides, they're the leaders of the free world, not a couple of teenaged schoolboys. And they always talk about morals!" he moaned. "And doing the right thing!"
Crowley sniggered at that. "They'll be doing the right thing right now," he muttered. "They'll be doing it as long as men their age can keep it up. Oh, come on. Don't get all pouty about it. You're only cuter when your lower lip sticks out like that, it doesn't lend weight to any arguments and it doesn't make anyone want to cheer you up."
Aziraphale sucked his lower lip back in, flushed. "Look, Crowley, this really is something I ought to thwart. Nip in the bud, so to speak." He gave a shudder.
"Oh, forget about them, angel. Let's go upstairs and have some wine. And dinner! I'll buy you dinner, how's that, and then you can forget about those nasty, evil politicians, hmmm?" And gave the angel a wicked grin, leading him upstairs by the arm. "And maybe later on a nice wing-rub..." he continued, more or less *sotto voce.*
"Mmm, a wing-rub *would* be nice," Aziraphale murmured in dulcet cadence, leaning into Crowley just a bit. Crowley stopped, opened his mouth to correct the other being—it was meant to be *his* wing-rub, after all—but then thought better of it. He supposed giving up one little wing-rub was a small price to pay for not having to listen to the angel whine about affairs of state, after all.
*Well, he *did say* they were bigger than Jesus. **P.S. This was my first GO fic, I hoped you liked and weren't too offended. Please review!