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“Wait a minute, dear, I want to get us some refreshments!”, Aziraphale said as they passed the cinema’s box office. He lightly tugged Crowley along by his arm in the direction of the bar.
Ever since the Nope-pocalypse, life had been domestically quiet in the daytime and generously inebriated in the nighttime. Which was, well, almost exactly what they had been doing before the world didn’t end, apart from an illustrious amount of additional snogging and shenanigans. They had moved in together (such a very human thing to do) to be able to spend just about all their time together. And they had adjusted to the private life like a duck takes to water.
There was only one sort-of-issue. Ever since they had basically told their celestial executives to go fuck themselves, there was no longer any official work to be done outside in the world. And as a result, they’d become quite the homebodies. And even if two beings are perfectly able to keep each other entertained between the walls of a Soho bookshop that now miraculously featured an ensuite Mayfair apartment. Everyone needs to go outside at least once in a little while. Honestly, it didn’t bother Crowley all that much. But his angel wanted to go out and do things together. And Crowley reckoned that, if that was to show off his hot date to the world, he was all for it.
Aziraphale had been adamant about going on a date this Saturday night. Doing anything together would have sufficed apparently. Tonight that meant date night at the Electric Cinema on Portobello Road. Crowley let himself be led. He observed the twinkle in Aziraphale’s eyes and trotted along, sporting a goofy smile he would have absolutely cringed at, had he realized it was there. “Whatever you want, love. Do you need any cash?” He heard himself say. Almighty, he wasn’t able to deny this gorgeous man anything. For Crowley, just getting to spend yet another night in bed making love to his angel would’ve been tickety-boo. But when it came to making Aziraphale happy, he was amenable to do whatever it took. Amenable. He had never been ‘amenable’ before, had he? He shrugged. If anyone would have asked him on the spot, he would've denied it until hell froze over. But Crowley was, to put it mildly, completely, totally, and utterly whipped and loving every second of it.
So it happened that tonight was movie night and Crowley was, well, amenable to go to a midnight showing of The Princess Bride. It was reasonably up his alley, so he decided he better not kick up a fuss. Well, at least not for his angel. No one could tell him not to have a little fun while they were out. Crowley tried to suppress a slightly sardonic smile. He flicked his wrist in the general direction of the bar, decidedly out of Aziraphale’s view.
“Oh, what in the world?!!” Aziraphale exclaimed startledly, locating a sudden wet sloshing sound to come from the soda machine behind the bar. The device was currently spurting an honest-to-God jetstream of fizzy drinks from every nozzle the thing possessed. The teller was thoroughly soaked and desperately trying and failing to tame the machine with a hand towel and a popcorn bucket. Aziraphale performed a small miracle and the machine stopped spraying at once with a disagreeable sputter, to obvious great relief from the personnel at the bar. He turned around towards Crowley lightning fast, squinting his eyes. ‘Did you have anything to do with that?’
Crowley stuck his hands in the air defensively. ‘Innocent as a lamb, me. You have to believe me, angel. We were just talking, right? I was asking whether you needed any money to get the things you want?’ He was so glad for his sunglasses, his eyes would’ve betrayed him in an instant.
Aziraphale’s face did that mercurial thing it always did. His eyes went wide and his lips broke into a sunshiny smile. He looked at Crowley like he’d hung the stars (which was accurate of course, because he actually did hang the stars back in the day).
‘That’s so thoughtful of you sweetheart, but that won’t be necessary. I have some on hand’. He said triumphantly waving a twenty pound note in the air. Mischief managed. Crowley thought before adding an “I love you, angel’ for good measure. Aziraphale beamed. 'I love you too, dearest.’ he said as he started towards the bar once more, dragging Crowley along even more enthusiastically than before.
It seemed Crowley had successfully diverted Aziraphale’s attention towards the small assortment of beverages for sale. Aziraphale chose two miniature bottles of Sauvignon and a large mixed sweet and salty bucket of popcorn. Crowley smirked a little at that. Aziraphale knew him too well. Crowley would have picked salty over sweet any day, whereas Aziraphale had an undeniable sweet tooth. This way, they both got what they wanted. Sort of. And they were both all for that. Crowley’s mind briefly drifted to other circumstances in which they both very much got what they wanted. But tonight was not the night for such things, although he did intend to try his luck later tonight.
They quickly found the right theatre. Being slightly late, they quietly slipped in through the back entrance and took their place in one of the back row two-seat sofas. The seats were upholstered in a luxurious bordeaux fabric. Crowley caught Aziraphale lightly caressing the broad armrest with the tips of his fingers. He had to be honest with himself. It was giving him ideas. He completely innocently scanned the rest of the hall. The first two rows of two-seat sofas in front of them were completely empty. A handful of people was scattered throughout the middle rows of single seats. The front rows were fuller. The very front row filled up completely, obviously because of the actual double beds they sported. He’d seen a poster at the desk; The front row is the new back row! Crowley shrugged. The back row is the real back row.
Aziraphale’s thoughts seemed to be dwelling on the same as Crowley’s as he whispered ‘I can hardly imagine why anybody would enjoy watching a film so close to the screen. That’s dizzying right?’ Crowley hummed in agreement. ‘People like front rows, it makes them feel important. I say front rows are for getting caught. Nobody in hell would ever sit in the front row. ‘S a bit like high school, honestly. You don’t want to risk being the one having to come up to the board, scribbling something on it as if you actually heard the question. Or everyone seeing you falling asleep in math class’. He chuckled.
Aziraphale smiled before shooting Crowley a puzzled look. ‘Except, you were never actually in high school, were you?’
‘No, not technically, but it makes for a good place to stir up some fun and tempt people into doing things they shouldn’t. Start ‘m young, as they say’. Crowley wiggled his eyebrows at Aziraphale.
‘Once a fiend, always a fiend.’ Aziraphale replied both matter-of-factly and lovingly.
They watched the film for about fifteen minutes before Crowley got bored with it. He pulled his arm around Aziraphale, placing it demonstratively on the headrest. Aziraphale leaned into him.
‘Fancy a snog?’ he whispered into the angel’s ear.
‘Ask me later darling, I am trying to watch the film. Surely we can hold out on the snogging until after?’
‘As you wish’ Crowley said defeatedly in a decidedly Westley kind of way. Lips pressed to a thin vertical line. He waited for the moment his angel immersed himself in the film once again, as he simultaneously planted a kiss in his love’s blonde curls and snapped the fingers of his left hand towards the screen as unobtrusively as possible. Aziraphale just looked at him adoringly for a second, before turning his eyes back towards the screen. It seemed like he hadn’t noticed the small miracle Crowley had performed and snuggled ever closer into the nooks of his love’s body.
The narrator in the film was just telling the viewers of Westley’s early demise at the hand of the Dread Pirate Barnacle Bill, named so because of a barnacle attached to the left side of his face, which was extremely disconcerting to those who looked upon him.
Aziraphale frowned and whispered. ‘I don’t remember any barnacles in this story? Does that ring a bell for you?’
‘Nah, not really. Must have forgotten about that, this is such a daft film’. Crowley mumbled.
‘Yes must have. Very daft’. Aziraphale said absent-mindedly, already captivated by the film again.
For a while Crowley passed his time munching away on the miraculously endless heap of popcorn in the bucket. A broad smirk appeared on his face when he realized the bucket should’ve run empty ages ago, and he sure as hell wasn’t responsible for that himself. He silently reprimanded himself for taking this long to notice. Come to think of it, how often had Aziraphale poured him a refill of wine exactly? Surely those miniature bottles would’ve run empty by now.
‘Say, angel mine, you couldn’t possibly have charmed these refreshments to a perpetual refill?’ Aziraphale looked a little guilty now.
‘Okay, yes I did a little. Small miracles never hurt anyone right?’
‘If you say so, it must be true. Being the good one out of the two of us. You know, angel, next time, I wouldn’t mind actually trying one of those double beds in the front. You could wave your magic fingers to disguise us from any onlookers while I ravish you.’ He kissed Aziraphale’s neck and it seemed that his love had stopped breathing at that. (Which honestly might have been the case, breathing being optional and all).
Crowley took the silence as an encouragement. So he continued. ‘You’d have to keep very quiet though, or people might start to trumpet that the Electric Cinema is haunted by decidedly raunchy ghosts.’
‘Could you two keep it down back there! Some of us are trying to watch the film!’ somebody three rows over whisper-yelled. And if that hadn’t yet evoked the demon’s wrath in the time it took to say ‘My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die’, the man’s added ‘And who the fuck wears sunglasses in a cinema?’ would have done it.
For the next 15 minutes that shut Crowley right up. Ever responsive to a scolding from a mortal. Responsive, unfortunately yes. But resentful, also yes. The man who had called them out had found out in the worst possible way that his drink had suddenly turned ‘Carolina Reaper’ spicy, managing to eject some of the liquid out of his nose upon the realization. Not bloody optimal, anyone could tell you that. Crowley almost sniggered as the man bolted out through the side door, proverbial smoke coming out of every orifice. Crowley straightened his face when Aziraphale looked at him in shock.
‘What? He certainly deserved that.’ Crowley stated.
‘Well, I guess he did kind of call that upon himself. You look so very cool in your sunglasses, my star.’ Aziraphale brushed his thumb softly over his love’s cheekbone. He was clearly unable to hide the amused smile on his face.
Crowley used his index finger and thumb to tenderly turn Aziraphale’s face back towards the screen and started to nibble and lick his angel’s earlobe. ‘Still just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing, right? You want me to go down on you? We’ll give them something to protest about’ he whispered. An almost imperceptible moan escaped Aziraphale’s lips. The wine must have been kicking in. Fucking finally.
‘Yes, yes, yes.’ Aziraphale muttered softly and out of breath, but he gently pushed Crowley back to his side of the two-seater. Aziraphale shook his head as if to snap himself out of it. ‘I mean, no, no, no.’ The electric tension between them was almost palpable. And Aziraphale looked so very beautifully flustered.
‘I guess this cinema lives up to its name.’ Crowley whispered in a voice not unaffected.
‘Crowley, dearheart, we can do this. We are proving that we can get through one night out. No. A single film. Without jumping each other's bones.’ He effusively turned his attention to the screen yet again. Crowley followed suit as best he could.
Their continuous excited whispering was now attracting even more annoyed looks from people around the room. They tried to focus on the film again, eyeing each other from time to time, keeping their hands pressed tightly in their laps like two horny schoolboys. Crowley waited until his arousal had abated a little. Not much. But still somewhat. He was holding on to his tiny wine bottle for dear life.
He had almost given up on his trouble-making staying hidden. At least he had the decency to try to hold his hand behind Aziraphale’s head, as he pointed towards a person sitting in one of the middle rows on the left side of the theatre. They immediately burst into a vicious sneezing attack. This might have been caused by the magical presence of a piece of pink coloured puffed rice in the left nostril. Or something else. Who’s to say?
And while Aziraphale was busy exclaiming ‘Oh my, what’s happening over there?’ Crowley made actual jazz-hands towards the screen. In effect, it even twinkled a for a little while afterwards. However, apparently not for such a while for Aziraphale to notice. To his own surprise, no smiting, scolding, squinting or pouting befell Crowley in that moment. Aziraphale hadn't seemed to notice anything. At. All.
Crowley put on a mostly serious face and briefly wondered whether it was possible at all to break the fifth, (sixth?) wall , before he made it happen. The thing turned exceedingly meta in the course of a single sentence uttered by the narrator. It stopped Crowley’s thoughts in their tracks, before they had even really started churning. Just now (spoiler alert) Westley and Buttercup had been reunited at the bottom of the ravine, and the film’s narrator started to address the audience. Nothing unusual so far. But instead of telling the people about something his wife once said to him, what he said was as follows:
At this point in the story, Aziraphale, the gentleman in seat 2 in the far back of the theatre, is certainly feeling violently cheated, being denied a flagantry filthy scene of reconciliation on the ravine floor between our two young lovers.
Aziraphale was stupefied, as just about everyone in the theatre turned to look at the two of them. He was so stunned that nothing came out of his wide open mouth.
The view of the film shifted back to actually showing Westley and Buttercup’s predicament in the ravine. Having to face many dangers, amongst which would be rodents of unusual size. To add insult to injury, and quite unexpectedly to, well, the entire audience, something fiery, scaly and decidedly non-rodenty suddenly soared across the screen. Spectators and the film’s narrator alike watched dumbstruck as a large green dragon took flight across the sky on screen, scorching everything in the wake of its hellfire breath.
It is safe to say, at this point in the story, that although it remained unclear what it was exactly that had convinced Aziraphale that Crowley had been meddling, it was absolutely crystal clear to him now. Aziraphale turned towards Crowley, still beet-red, and a very stern look on his face. ‘What do you have to say for yourself, Anthony J. Crowley? I know for certain that there are absolutely no dragons in The Princess Bride.
He should have been at least a little fearful, but Crowley could have died of laughter right then. ‘That’s what finally made you notice?’ Crowley both giggled at that as well as cowered for Aziraphale. He slurred a little as he stated ‘That, my angel. That is absolutely inconceivable’.
A more than slightly tipsy Aziraphale lost his resolve at that. He couldn’t hold it together anymore either and burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter and he had to hold on to Crowley not to bounce out of their seat. ‘Well dear… I feel I need to confess at this point that your rendition of the story was right about at least one thing. I have always felt violently cheated of being denied a flagrantly filthy scene of reconciliation between Westley and Buttercup. Want to go home and get naked?’
‘Sweetheart, I thought you’d never ask.’ Crowley replied as he rested his forehead against Aziraphale and kissed him.
‘Hmm. You know I’m going to make you pay for your crazy antics, right?’ Aziraphale whispered. He kissed Crowley back, markedly less chaste, adding some tongue for good measure. Crowley whimpered as Aziraphale grabbed his hand and started to lead him out of the theatre. Bewildered audience left behind to somehow deal with all they had just witnessed.
Aziraphale and Crowley would probably never find out how this version of The Princess Bride was going to end. And that was a bloody shame. But, then again, it couldn't have been much more daft compared to the original.
Crowley let himself be led for the umpteenth time today, the goofiest of goofy smiles painted across his face in broad strokes. He was, as they say; Completely, totally, and utterly whipped.
And loving every second of it.