Lower Tadfield Safehouse

"Ah. That's the one Crowley often accuses me of espousing," he admited, "although of course as an angel I am incapable of sinning."

He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "Er, Barnaby dear, am I bothering you? I can always go find a book to read if you're interested in..." he tilted his head to see what Barnaby was reading, "... My Secret Life." He, despite himself, blushed.

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He looked at Aziraphale blankly, looked down at the book, actually read the page it was open at, and dropped it on the table as if it was a large angry sea spider on fire.

"Not at all," he said a touch too brightly, wiping his hands on his trousers. "On the whole, I don't think I need any more nightmare fuel."

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"I read it when it first came out," he said empathetically, "It's been in my back room ever since. A complete set, in fact. However, it reaffirmed my lack of desire to copulate with humans." He shuddered.

Aziraphale didn't point out that he could sell the edition for quite a pretty penny but still insisted on keeping them.

"If nothing else, they make an excellent drinking game," he ventured.

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"Is that so," he said, suppressing the urge to go boil his hands for a few hours. "I'm surprised if it hasn't burned a hole in its shelf." Instead he put them in his pockets, the Barsoom book still under one arm.

"What would the rules be? Take a shot every time gamahuching is mentioned? Or for every run-on sentence? You'd drink yourself into stupor before the first chapter was done." He gave Aziraphale a quick, slightly rueful look when he said this. The morning after the karaoke night was spent facedown in a pillow delaying healing away the hangover, which did not so much get rid of it but condense it into five seconds of dry-mouthed head-pounding nausea. Not that it hurt, but still.

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Gabriel, walking towards them with a few repaired books in his arms for shelving, paused and blinked. "I don't think I've heard the word gamahuching before. What does it mean?"

Drinking games sounded... interesting, though.

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A series of expressions chased over Barnaby's face fighting for dominance, finally settling on a deliberate, almost beatific look of neutrality.

"Lip service," he replied.

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Gabriel tilted his head, curiously. "Lip service? What do you mean?"

He noted the rather odd look on the demon's face. "Are you alright?"

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"Just fine," he said blithely. "You wouldn't happen to have a dictionary on hand, would you?"

He ignored the squeak of horror from the voice of sanity in his head.

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Gabriel held out a hand. A dictionary on his desk disappeared, reappearing in his palm.

"Lip service. An idiom meaning 'minimal compliance only'," he read out. "As for that other word, gamahuching..." He flipped carefully through the pages. "Odd. It doesn't seem to have it. Was it an old word for paying someone lip service in this sense?"

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"You could say that." He studied the ceiling carefully. Interesting pattern of tiles, there. "Only in a more specific sense. Not that I would know."

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Gabriel sighed. "You're not going to give me a straight answer, are you? I didn't realise you had so much in common with the Sphinx. She's staying here, by the way."

What was it about this strange word, that Barnaby seemed so reluctant to explain it?

He turned to the other angel. "Aziraphael? Would you care to enlighten me?"

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"Well actually, it was 'frigging,' as I couldn't help but find that word completely absurd," Aziraphale admitted. He did not admit he also found the word decidedly not erotic. "And yes, the games did not last very long."

Then Gabriel joined the conversation. Aziraphale sighed and said as tactfully as he could, "It refers to oral sex as being performed upon a woman."

He would NOT blush in shame, he would NOT blush in shame, he would NOT...

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Gabriel blinked. A decidedly pink tinge began to spread over his cheeks. "Oh."

So that was why Barnaby had been so hesitant.

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"Indeed." Yep, the ceiling was still there. There was no reason he should be scrutinizing it so carefully. Possibly he was looking for fire. Very dangerous things, these ceiling flames, especially in a library.

Nope, no smoke here. Another job well done, young knight.

Barnaby coughed. "I think I will be checking this out, though," he said, indicating The Chessmen of Mars he was holding. "It's low on the frigging, however."

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Gabriel nodded, trying to will away the blush and keep his eyes fixed firmly on Barnaby's collar. It was a nice collar.

"Frig - ? No, wait, I don't want to know." He glanced at the call number on the spine and returned to his desk to key it in, keeping his eyes averted. He hadn't read through every one of the books the nuns had left behind, and evidently it was just as well that he hadn't.

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"No need to be so awkward about it," Aziraphale said, tentatively clearing his throat. "Humans have done far worse things than orally pleasure each other. Things involving sheep, for instance."

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"Sheep." Gabriel nodded, running his fingers through his hair. "Indeed."

I am not some adolescent. I refuse to blush like a schoolgirl.

He keyed in the call number of The Chessmen of Mars and hit Enter. "Enjoy the book," he said to Barnaby's collar.

Edited Date: Monday, 5 April 2010 11:17 (UTC)

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"Only in Wales," Barnaby said, before he could stop himself.

Schooling his face into blankness again, he slotted the book into his coat pocket. "Thanks."

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"... I beg your pardon?" What did Wales have to do with anything? Then again, Gabriel probably didn't want to know.

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Aziraphale choked on nothing and died on the inside at the Wales crack.

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"I think the rain's clearing up!" he said brightly, heroically ignoring the look on Aziraphale's face. "I might go out for a bit, if it's not too muddy. It's been wonderful talking to you."

He spun on his heel and made for the door, before he cracked entirely.

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I refuse to go read My Secret Life again. I refuse to go read My Secret Life again. I refuse to go read My Secret Life again...

"So, ah, Gabriel, how are you? I couldn't help but notice Michael was here."

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"Well, you know Michael," Gabriel smiled fondly. "He's been pestering me as usual. I have not had a moment's peace since he arrived, and frankly most of the time I wouldn't have it any other way. Don't tell him that, though, or we'll never fit his head through any doors. Or even the gates."

He slid a book into place and checked that the spines were aligned before turning back to the Principality. "What about you?"

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Aziraphale was a veteran of the Host and thus had an almost ingrained admiration for the Warrior in question, but even he had to snicker at that. "Well, he'll be nice about it and likely joke when he hits his head on the entranceway, if nothing else. And he's quite fond of you, you know, so it's good you are of him, albeit secretly."

He shrugged at the question. "Oh, same old, I suppose. Any recommendations for me to begin here?"

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