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Oct. 14th, 2004 11:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nnyAM SO too drunk to come in and so therefore only drabbles have already done.
Bernard/Tonks for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
muffinbutt and Aziraphel and Crowley at the movies for dopplegl are
A pale, unobtrusive girl entered the bar, long mousy hair tied loosely in a ribbon, shapeless dress hanging off her like a sack. She looked around for a moment, then made her way to the bar, to where Bernard was leaning, determinedly not smoking a cigarette. He looked up at her and grinned.
"Alright, Tits?"
She looked at him for a second, expressionless, then grinned widely and threw her arms around him.
"You really know how to charm a girl, Bernard."
There was a second of too-close, a second in which he noticed the slide of her dress across her hips as he put his arms around her, a second of his scent in her nose that made her wonder what his skin would taste like. They pulled away fractionally, rough cheek sliding against smooth, and then eyes meeting and lips so close too close… a rush of adrenaline that made her gasp soundlessly, eyes wide. Then;
"Charlie." She tried to pull away, but that would give it too much importance, would make it something that had happened, so he just squeezed her and grinned.
"And Fleur." She relaxed in his arms, kissed him on the cheek, and things were almost normal. "But we could have been good."
"Yeah." She grabbed his hand, squeezed it. "Love you."
"Enough to kiss Fleur again where I can see?" He laughed loudly as she whacked him on the arm. "Love you too, mate."
*
"Actually, I rather liked it."
Crowley looked at him, an expression of horror on his face. "Please tell me you're joking."
"What? It certainly had its moments. The excremental was rather inspired."
"You liked the shit demon?"
Aziraphael winced. "Do keep your voice down, my dear. We are in public."
Crowley threw his arms out. "How can you say that? It was tripe!"
"I don't see the problem."
"Demons do not wear suits with polo shirts."
"Nor is the Metatron so tasty as Alan Rickman. Allow them some poetic license, Crowley."
He walked away, serenely, Crowley gaping in his wake.
*
And Sophie? Loveliest thing anyone has ever said to me. Thank you.
Bernard/Tonks for
muffinbutt and Aziraphel and Crowley at the movies for dopplegl are A pale, unobtrusive girl entered the bar, long mousy hair tied loosely in a ribbon, shapeless dress hanging off her like a sack. She looked around for a moment, then made her way to the bar, to where Bernard was leaning, determinedly not smoking a cigarette. He looked up at her and grinned.
"Alright, Tits?"
She looked at him for a second, expressionless, then grinned widely and threw her arms around him.
"You really know how to charm a girl, Bernard."
There was a second of too-close, a second in which he noticed the slide of her dress across her hips as he put his arms around her, a second of his scent in her nose that made her wonder what his skin would taste like. They pulled away fractionally, rough cheek sliding against smooth, and then eyes meeting and lips so close too close… a rush of adrenaline that made her gasp soundlessly, eyes wide. Then;
"Charlie." She tried to pull away, but that would give it too much importance, would make it something that had happened, so he just squeezed her and grinned.
"And Fleur." She relaxed in his arms, kissed him on the cheek, and things were almost normal. "But we could have been good."
"Yeah." She grabbed his hand, squeezed it. "Love you."
"Enough to kiss Fleur again where I can see?" He laughed loudly as she whacked him on the arm. "Love you too, mate."
*
"Actually, I rather liked it."
Crowley looked at him, an expression of horror on his face. "Please tell me you're joking."
"What? It certainly had its moments. The excremental was rather inspired."
"You liked the shit demon?"
Aziraphael winced. "Do keep your voice down, my dear. We are in public."
Crowley threw his arms out. "How can you say that? It was tripe!"
"I don't see the problem."
"Demons do not wear suits with polo shirts."
"Nor is the Metatron so tasty as Alan Rickman. Allow them some poetic license, Crowley."
He walked away, serenely, Crowley gaping in his wake.
*
And Sophie? Loveliest thing anyone has ever said to me. Thank you.
