Just a goofy little one-shot I came up with tonight. Enjoy!
"Gimme your hand," Crowley said. He and Aziraphale were seated in a cafe in Paris, sharing a bottle of the cheapest house wine on the menu, which, once the demon laid eyes on it, became a very good Merlot. Around them men in waistcoats and cravats sat discussing the latest royal scandal. Crowley was in a good mood, which was only enhanced by the drink in front of him--he had that very day planted a positively revolutionary idea in the mind of one Mr. Guillotin. It was as good a reason as any to celebrate.
"Why?"
"M'curious. Wanna see what it'll do to me."
"Do to you? What do you expect?"
"Well... could be nothng. We're the same stock, after all. I was born--er, created-- an angel."
"And what's the alta... ternal...other scenario?"
"Ever seen what holy water'll do to a demon?"
Crowley drained his wineglass and filled it again from the bottle in a smooth motion made all the more impressive by the fact that he was completely plastered. Aziraphale stared at him for a moment, similarly drunk, cringing at the thought of the melting, blistering flesh that resulted in dousing a demon with holy water. Horrifying. Disgusting, even. Not to mention ridiculously painful to the demon in question.
"'If it'll do that to you, whaddya think it'll do to me?"
"Dunno. Same, maybe? Do they make such a thing as blasphemous water?"
"Not gonna try it."
"Aw, c'mon, angel. Jus' a li'l experiment."
Aziraphale sighed and finished off his own wine, holding it in his mouth for just a moment to really enjoy the body and flavor. One thing that demon knew how to do--conjure a really fine Merlot.
He thought about it. They'd never touched before. It wasn't part of the Arrangement, exactly--it had just never come up. And there was, of course, the threat of what demonic flesh could do to angelic flesh and vice versa. Generally, good versus evil led to at least a somewhat violent light show.
Still... there was nothing to lose, really. The damage would heal eventually. He could tell Heaven that he'd tried the "laying on of hands" on the demon. They usually went for that sort of thing, he thought. Hoped.
"Fine," he said and held out his hand to Crowley. The demon shook his head.
"Nuh-uh. Gimme your left hand."
"Wha?"
"Your left hand, angel. You're right-handed in this incarnation, if I remember correctly?"
Understanding poked it's way through Aziraphale's drunken stupor. It would be quite inconvenient to damage his dominant hand, if that was the outcome of this little test. He did as the demon suggested. Crowley held his left hand up as well, and slowly they reached towards each other.
Their fingertips connected, and Aziraphale flinched, anticipating a flare of light and a sudden burst of pain. But there was nothing. Without even thinking about it, he pressed his palm to Crowley's. There was no supernatural effect--just the feeling of the demon's preternaturally warm, dry skin. Their hands matched perfectly.
"Hmph," Crowley muttered, breaking the silence. "Nothing to worry 'bout there, I guess." He pulled his hand away and picked up his wineglass. Aziraphale chuckled softly with relief and picked up his glass as well. It took several moments for a realization to occur to him.
"Um, you're left-handed, aren't you?"
Crowley snorted in what might have been a concealed laugh or a sound of indignation. "Demons always are. Someone Below decided it was symbolic or something.Sinistre, I believe they call it here."
"But you..."
Crowley shrugged and picked up the bottle of wine, only to find it empty. He set it back down and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was more or less sober.
"I ought to go. Shepherdesses to tempt and whatnot."
Aziraphale just nodded.
"Dinner tomorrow, then?"
"Sure."
"Good night, angel."
"Good night."