You Could Make A Religion Out Of This, and other shorts

How You Change My World You Precious Thing

Summary: Really though, Gabriel is just trying to protect Aziraphale's virtue. That's all. Don't read anything into it.

-/-

A/N: This fic completely ignores Gabriel's implication that Heaven thinks Crowley doesn't know about Az and instead works under the assumption that Heaven are aware that Az and Cr are aware of each other and thinks they just don't like each other like good nemeses are meant to.

-/-

Aziraphale sensed the presence of Gabriel before Crowley did, but only by about a second: it was for this reason, and this reason only, that Crowley didn't have to wonder why Aziraphale shoved him off of the bridge and into the river below without so much as a by-your-leave.

He surfaced just as Gabriel approached Aziraphale, who was peeking over the bridge's railing while trying not to look like he was watching for that, and for a moment the two angels stood silently watching the demon swim to shore and slither out, shaking himself dry on the bank. He tugged his shirt from his skin and wrung it out, making only-just-audible muttering noises that sounded to Aziraphale's trained ears like blessings on the angel who had shoved him into the water in the first place.

"Oh dear," Aziraphale murmured, and looked over at Gabriel, whose hands had found the bridge's railing in a grip so tight that he was leaving heavenly imprints in the wood. "Gabriel?"

"Aziraphale! Yes. Ah." Gabriel released his grip on the wood and cleared his throat. Adjusted his tie. "Now then. I've come to talk to you. About- well, about him, actually."

He gestured out at Crowley, who had miracled himself dry and was making his way up the bank. His hair was still damp, though; it was plastered to his forehead, hanging in his eyes, and he shook his head, splattering water everywhere and then running his hands through it, setting it standing straight up before flopping limply over. Aziraphale suppressed a smirk. Unlike Crowley's shoes and clothing, which Knew Better than the stain or smudge or tear, his hair tended to have a mind of its own and did as it liked. And sometimes what it liked was making Crowley look ridiculous. [1]

"About Crowley? Wh-what about Crowley?"

"Well... I'm worried about you, Aziraphale. I've been watching from the Earth Observation Deck. I think there's a chance Crowley may be trying to..." He lowered his voice. "Tempt you."

"Tempt me."

"Into Lust."

Aziraphale's jaw lowered very slowly. "Ah?"

"I know the two of you are enemies, but you've admitted to respecting his abilities as an Adversary, and respect is a slippery slope. One minute you're thinking, oh, that Crowley, so wily and good at tempting humans, and the next minute your head is filled with filth."

"Filth," Aziraphale repeated weakly. In the distance, Crowley decided to wait Gabriel out with a frozen treat, and had purchased a strawberry lolly from the ice cream stand.

"I mean," Gabriel said, gesturing at Crowley, "Look at the way he's standing. And the way he's sucking on that ice lolly. Doesn't it make you think... things?"

Aziraphale looked over and gave Crowley an appreciative once-over. He had one hip cocked to the side while his unnaturally long tongue fought to lick away at the drips of his ice lolly before it melted over his hands, and he really made a beautiful sight like this, all candid and happy and clearly enjoying his contest with the dessert. It made Aziraphale's heart soften; he liked seeing Crowley enjoying himself.

What it didn't do was inspire lascivious thoughts in him. He wasn't sure why it should.

"I assure you, Gabriel, whatever Crowley may be attempting to tempt me into by... standing there eating an ice lolly... it's not working even a bit. You don't have to worry about my virtue, even where Crowley is involved."

"Are you sure? Because the way he's stuffed into those jeans of his, it can't be anything but a temptation. Doesn't he make you wonder what's, you know, stuffed in there?"

Aziraphale didn't have to wonder, actually, because he already knew: Crowley tended to make just enough of an effort to have something to shape his jeans around, but the actual contents were as like the real thing would be as their corporations were like their truest forms- essentially, just a lump of vaguely shaped flesh for his inseam to hug.

And even if that weren't the case, Aziraphale wasn't sure how knowing Crowley had genitals was supposed to make him wonder about the details of said genitals.

"Not even a little bit," he said. "You really don't have to caution me on the matter."

"And the way he walks," Gabriel said, ignoring him. "You can't tell me you don't look at the way his hips move and then not think about his hips moving in other situations."

Crowley had won the battle with his ice lolly; he was now sashaying over to the waterfront to throw the stick at the nearest duck, hips swinging with each movement. Aziraphale was familiar with Crowley's walk: he walked like his thighs had just had a particularly messy divorce or, more accurately, like a being with no physical attributes stuffed into a body with no legs shape-shifted into a body with two and he was still trying to work out how to actually use them.

Aziraphale turned his attention to Gabriel, taking in the way his gaze lingered on Crowley's hips, and pursed his lips.

"Gabriel, I don't think I'm the one in danger of being tempted to Lust here."

"You think he's trying to tempt someone else?"

"I don't think he's trying to tempt anyone at all. I think that's just how he is. But I think you might be tempted all the same."

"What? Me? I'm the Archangel Gabriel, Aziraphale, I don't get tempted."

"Everyone has the capacity for temptation, even Archangels. Isn't that why you all keep each other so much in check?"

"Well- I mean- that is-"

"I should think it might be best to remove yourself from the temptation entirely, lest it overcome you."

Gabriel's eyes tracked back over to Crowley, who had flung himself onto a bench to wait, arms sprawled out over the back and thighs so far apart they were occupying different time zones. He made a soft, slightly strangled noise in the back of his throat and nodded.

"You're right, Aziraphale. I should just keep my distance."

And then he was gone.

-/-

Five minutes later, Aziraphale took a seat beside Crowley, who shifted enough to oblige him, but not so much that his knee wasn't brushing against Aziraphale's, or his hand against Aziraphale's shoulder on the back of the bench.

"He's gone, then?"

"Yes. I don't think he'll be back anytime soon, either."

-/-

[1- It was a little-known fact that Crowley didn't so much style his hair as his hair just did what it liked regardless of what he wanted. Fortunately for him, it was as fashion-conscious as he was and liked to match his clothing. It also had a tendency to grow itself out if Crowley's head was in Aziraphale's lap, because it liked when Aziraphale ran his hands through it. Once Crowley wondered if he should be jealous of his own hair, and then decided that this would be absurd and sobered up. Still. The thought lingered.]