Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for rampant bibliophilia
Summary: some insight into Aziraphale's earthly joys.
AN: What i've been doing during Roman History for the last few classes. This exists in the same universe as copperbadge's Some Strange Race. had a moment of panic just now when i thought i'd been spelling Aziraphale's name wrong the whole time, but upon consultation of the book, i appear to be okay.
"It's all your fault, you know," Crowley grumbled against Aziraphale's shoulder. "If you hadn't started capitalizing the Arrangement, we wouldn't be in this mess."
"I hardly think the difference of one letter had quite that much influence on the last four thousand years of history." Aziraphale had just discovered the joys of laying on one's stomach, and his voice was rather muffled. "Especially being a non-verbal difference."
"Learning to enunciate capital letters is the least of what you've managed in the last four thousand years of history, angel." Aziraphale gave a highly undignified wriggle of pleasure at the compliment, which Crowley found largely acceptable, and rolled over to face the ex-demon, thwarting Crowley's plan to give into the temptation of pinching Aziraphale's arse.
If Crowley thought too hard about how Aziraphale could tempt and thwart at the same time, his head began to pound.
"I have long believed that your people invented lower case letters," Aziraphale commented, propping himself up with one elbow.
"Oh really?" Crowley inquired politely, much more interested in reaching over and running his thumb over the ridge of Aziraphale's collarbone than in his angel's fascination with the written word.
"Mnn, yes," Aziraphale leaned into the touch just a little. "Completely superfluous...all those seductive curves...curling so close together...lounging all over the pages..."
"Does sound rather like something I might get up to," Crowley murmured, shifting closer to run his tongue over the collarbone in question. Really, the inventor of these things was a genius, it was like they were made to fit perectly against your lips.
"Reading didn't used to be seductive." Aziraphale was trying for disapproving and only managing breathy. Crowley laughed suddenly.
"I wondered why you developed such an interest in it in the fourth century. Had a yen for the serpentine all this time, have you?" He ran one hand lightly up Aziraphale's side.
"Pride's a sin, dear boy," Aziraphale said, reaching up to force Crowley's tickling hand to still.
"And taking out your repressed fantasies on innocent inanimate objects isn't?" Crowley lifted his head to raise an eyebrow at Aziraphale.
"Not on the big list, no." Aziraphale looked smug, and Crowley's pulse skipped a little, just like it did every time he saw one of the darker emotions on Aziraphale's face for the first time.
"Cause it doesn't have a snappy name." Crowley lowered his head again to nibble Aziraphale's neck, but kept murmuring against his skin. "They should name it after you. It'll catch on quickly, I expect. Soon young men'll be confessing to their priests that they Aziraphaled the couch while their girlfriends were away for the weekend."
Aziraphale laughed hard enough to make Crowley's skin buzz, the deep belly laugh that he had never heard any angel ever give in six thousand years but that humans managed all the time. It did a lot more to him than made his pulse skip.
"Have to name something after you then to, won't we?" Aziraphale finally said when he could manage words in between chortles. "We'll get all the young virgins sighing 'I'm completely in Crowley with that attractive boy across the street'."
"That's low, angel," Crowley growled, nipping his shoulder.