[identity profile] misura.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] kinkfest
Title: Inebriated
Author: [livejournal.com profile] misura
Rating: PG-13 for implied consumption of alcohol and the contemplation of Free Choice
Warnings: None. Except that my mind went from 'love potion' to 'really good wine' and then got a little lost.
Summary: A surprising amount of best-laid plans were conceived of by sober people (although nobody knows for certain about the mice).
A/N: A drabblet.


"Have another glasss," coaxed Crowley, assuring himself he didn't hiss at all - okay, maybe a little, but it wasn't because he was anywhere as near to a state of inebriation as Aziraphale was.

"Oh, really, I shouldn't," Aziraphale protested, not fooling either of them. Crowley smugly noticed the angel's voice slurred a little; a clear sign that Crowley's devious plot was working.

"Be a shame to let the rest of the bottle go to waste," Crowley said. "Bottles," he corrected himself, when he noticed there were three of them, and both of them half full, too, fancy that.

Aziraphale sighed and allowed Crowley to refill his glass. Taking a sip, his expression brightened and he sighed again, in quite a different tone of voice, leaning back in his seat, eyes closed.

"Not like the alcohol's going to affect usss, anyway," Crowley continued, wincing slightly. Aziraphale appeared not to notice anything amiss though. "Not unlesss we let it." And there was the rub, wasn't it?

Humans had got the choice between Good and Evil, and even if they picked Evil, they still always had the option of Repentance and Redemption open to them. Aziraphale and Crowley had got the choice between Getting Drunk After Having Consumed a Certain Amount of Alcoholic Beverages and Not Getting Drunk After etc. Crowley couldn't help but feel he and Aziraphale had gotten the short end of the stick there, but then, nobody'd ever claimed the Universe was fair - well, nobody whom Crowley'd voluntarily listen to for more than ten seconds, anyway.

"Free choice," Aziraphale murmured, as if he'd read Crowley's mind - and if Crowley's attention hadn't been fully occupied by trying to come up with a sentence that didn't have any sibilants in it, that notion might have worried him, just a little.

"Free choice." Crowley raised his glass and drank. It was still the best wine he'd tasted in about a century - horribly expensive, of course, but then, he didn't intend to pay for it. More: he didn't intend to let Aziraphale pay for it either. Hence, the ploy to get Aziraphale too drunk to be able to think of such things as the bill. It was, Crowley freely admitted to himself, perhaps not the most brilliant, evil masterplan ever conceived. It would probably work though, which was more than could be said for a great many of the brilliant, evil masterplans Crowley had come across in books, movies and various other media over the centuries.

"Ssso," he said, "your place or mine?"

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