So, Emmy Pokes Me to Write More of This
Aug. 8th, 2007 09:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
And I do. This is one that doesn't live without Crack!Muses, though, so you will have to prod me for it to happen.
Title: GODan 10
Fandoms: Good omens, written by the godlike Pratchett and the saintlike Gaiman, bit only because he doesn't want to be a god. And DP by the Bitch.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, implied sex
Aziraphale put down his empty teacup with a precise clink that went totally unnoticed over the sounds of Dan and his enthusiastically distracting boyfriends.
“Really, dears,” he murmured. This did not go unnoticed.
“What, you want in?” offered Dan cheerfully.
Before the angel could reply, Clockwork–Crowley found it easier, or at least less of a headache, to think of him as Clockwork–patted his boyfriends’ behinds and said, “That’s enough, loves. Let me talk to the nice angels now.”
Dan looked pouty for a moment before Freakshow mouthed the word “bedsprings” at him. Then he looked positively gleeful as he picked up the smaller ghost and slung him over his shoulder. Freakshow didn’t seem to mind; he had a nice view of Dan’s ass, which he pinched.
Clockwork watched them go almost fondly, and then turned back to Crowley. There was a moment of almost pressure, a sense of momentary scrutiny that was nonetheless stronger and more penetrating than the moment when he’d realized his had been the wrong friends, on the losing side, after all.
It passed, or rather, passed over him, to focus on Aziraphale.
He felt Aziraphale doing that thing where he clammed up tight and was suddenly the utterly proper English gentleman who could look down on anyone, even his betters, because he was more English. What was more, and probably more frightening, was the fact that it made no difference one way or the other to Clockwork; it was like trying to soak up the ocean with a sponge.
In the distance, there was the sound of bouncing bedsprings. If he’d been human, that would have been all Crowley heard, but as it was, he leaned back into his chair a little, summoned a cigarette, and watched Aziraphale turn redder.
Eventually, Clockwork said, “Crowley, you can go.”
Crowley went. He was quite surprised to find himself back in the Renaissance, but shrugged, and decided to go down to the bar. He needed a drink.
Title: GODan 10
Fandoms: Good omens, written by the godlike Pratchett and the saintlike Gaiman, bit only because he doesn't want to be a god. And DP by the Bitch.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, implied sex
Aziraphale put down his empty teacup with a precise clink that went totally unnoticed over the sounds of Dan and his enthusiastically distracting boyfriends.
“Really, dears,” he murmured. This did not go unnoticed.
“What, you want in?” offered Dan cheerfully.
Before the angel could reply, Clockwork–Crowley found it easier, or at least less of a headache, to think of him as Clockwork–patted his boyfriends’ behinds and said, “That’s enough, loves. Let me talk to the nice angels now.”
Dan looked pouty for a moment before Freakshow mouthed the word “bedsprings” at him. Then he looked positively gleeful as he picked up the smaller ghost and slung him over his shoulder. Freakshow didn’t seem to mind; he had a nice view of Dan’s ass, which he pinched.
Clockwork watched them go almost fondly, and then turned back to Crowley. There was a moment of almost pressure, a sense of momentary scrutiny that was nonetheless stronger and more penetrating than the moment when he’d realized his had been the wrong friends, on the losing side, after all.
It passed, or rather, passed over him, to focus on Aziraphale.
He felt Aziraphale doing that thing where he clammed up tight and was suddenly the utterly proper English gentleman who could look down on anyone, even his betters, because he was more English. What was more, and probably more frightening, was the fact that it made no difference one way or the other to Clockwork; it was like trying to soak up the ocean with a sponge.
In the distance, there was the sound of bouncing bedsprings. If he’d been human, that would have been all Crowley heard, but as it was, he leaned back into his chair a little, summoned a cigarette, and watched Aziraphale turn redder.
Eventually, Clockwork said, “Crowley, you can go.”
Crowley went. He was quite surprised to find himself back in the Renaissance, but shrugged, and decided to go down to the bar. He needed a drink.