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Apr. 24th, 2004 11:53 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ds_flashfictionMany thanks to my girl ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
heuradys, for her birthday inspiration, general wrongheadedness, and speed beta.
Every Angel Is Terrifying
(verse: Three Angels)
The atmosphere in the celestial break room was fractious. Ray was shuffling and re-shuffling the deck of cards and chewing his toothpicks to splinters.
Aziraphale was pretending to read a small volume of poetry, but he kept pulling out his pocket watch and checking it. Metatron was leaning up against the mustard-yellow refrigerator with his arms crossed, scowling disapprovingly at both of them.
The diminutive figure of a little girl with dirty blonde pigtails and coke-bottle glasses wandered in. "You boys really ought to learn patience. It's a valuable skill."
Ray promptly dealt the cards out into formation for solitaire.
"Very good!" the little girl praised, in Her oddly deep-timbred voice. "Humor is an excellent way to divert yourself and others, although you might want to meditate on the concept of 'impertinence,' Ray." She waved Metatron away from the fridge and poured some milk into a faded Scooby-Doo jelly jar.
"You all know that Fraser will return when his assignment is done. I expect you to at least *try* to get along in the absence of his diplomacy." She rinsed out Her empty glass and set it in the sink.
"And don't forget to check the chore wheel," She admonished, as She skipped out the door.
***Some Time Later***
The break room was blanketed in a chilly silence. Metatron and Aziraphale were smoking cigarillos and playing a game called "cutthroat" with homicidal earnestness. Ray was eating pickles out of the jar and watching the smokers jealously.
When the little girl returned, She appeared to be a particularly well-favored high school aged boy.
"I can see you took my advice to heart," He said dryly.
"What kind of mission have you got Fraser on, anyway?" demanded Ray. "My feet are all swollen and I could really use a backrub."
"And it is his turn to do the dishes," noted Aziraphale, indicating the chore wheel with his smoldering stogie.
The young man looked thoughtful.
"Why don't you guys watch a movie while you're waiting? 'Slap Shot' and 'Miracle' are both supposed to be good," He said.
***
After the credits rolled, the trio tried to figure out what He had meant for them to discover by watching the movies.
"Wait a minute. We're stuck here and he's coaching hockey???"
***
"I get the aisle seat," Ray said.
"Oh, you *do*, do you? And why, pray tell, should we agree to that?" Metatron asked with a sneer.
"Because I'm the only one of us who's got to keep his bodily functions going *and* because my bladder is currently being squashed to the size of a peanut," Ray explained testily. "Unless you really want to stand up every time I have to hit the can."
Ray got the aisle seat.
***
Ray flipped through the glossy Rangers program he'd bought. "2010 and they're up against the Devils again. No wonder they need Fraser's help." He tossed the magazine aside and craned his neck, trying to find his partner.
He started to hover over the seat, for the added vantage, but Aziraphale yanked him back down again before Metatron could notice. Ray snarled at him, but Aziraphale just inclined his head towards the Rangers bench, where the team was filing in.
Ray's entire body strained forward until he caught sight of Fraser, who was dressed in a charcoal grey suit and the requisite hideous tie. The arena lights gleamed off the blue-black sheen of his hair, creating a halolike effect.
Ray stood up and waved his arms above his head.
"YO, FRASER!"
Although Fraser was coaching under an assumed name, his head snapped up and a huge smile crossed his face as he sighted the angelic host in the fourth row. He dipped his head in acknowledgment before turning back to concentrate on his players.
Ray settled back into his seat and sat still for the first time in ages.
***Intermission***
The first and second periods were scoreless. It looked like Fraser had done a pretty good job with the team.
Metatron and Aziraphale went to get refills on their beer before the concessionaires stopped selling it.
"Grab me a foot-long with mustard and sauerkraut, okay? And another lemonade." Ray wrinkled his nose. "I've gotta hit the head again." Ray wandered down to the -- miraculously empty -- men's room and entered a stall. He pulled off his T-shirt and let his wings unfurl with a sigh. He couldn't stretch them out in the confines of the stall, but at this point just having them loosed was almost as much of a relief as emptying his bladder. He zipped up and held his shirt in his hand, putting off tucking his wings back in as long as he could.
He'd hardly had time to enjoy a body with no need for digestive functions before he had to keep them up -- and some brand new, scary functions, to boot -- all the time. With a growl of helpless frustration, Ray snapped his wings out, denting the metal walls on either side of the stall on impact.
"Dammit! Fuck! Mmmrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!" he threw a couple of air-punches, then let his fists drop to his sides. He took a few deep breaths and forced himself to relax. "Sorry," he apologized in the general direction of the ceiling.
The stall door flew open and Ray spun, trying to re-furl his wings as quickly as possible.
"Ray," Fraser breathed, and crowded into the already-cramped space.
A quick moment of warmth as Fraser's arms went around his bare shoulders and hauled him close. Ray blindly sought out Fraser's mouth, vision blurred with a sudden attack of hormonal tears, and kissed Fraser like he'd been gone for months instead of two weeks. Fraser's hand slid down to the small of his back, where it traced soothing circles that dipped teasingly beneath Ray's waistband on occasion.
Fraser released Ray, gave his lips a final peck, and attempted to step back. Ray followed and pushed him against the door. Fraser chuckled, low and sensual, and let Ray take his mouth again. When Ray's fingers tangled in the knot of his tie, trying to undo it one-handed, Fraser held them still and pulled reluctantly away.
"I have to get back, Ray," Fraser explained.
"Missed you," Ray said simply.
"I missed you too," Fraser said, cupping Ray's neck and running his free hand down Ray's arm. He plucked the shirt out of Ray's grasp and handed it back to him, saying only, "Soon," before the stall door swung shut behind him.
***Third Period -- 00:20 left***
Ray was twitching in his seat, although his excess of energy could easily be chalked up to the intensity of the game. The third period was scoreless so far, so if the nobody scored in the next twenty seconds, the game would go into overtime, and who knew what would happen. If the Rangers scored, Fraser's job would be done and celestial life would be back to normal (such as it was).
Not four yards in front of them, one of the blue-jerseyed players lined up a shot on the empty Devils' goal.
A red-jerseyed figure raced to block it.
"You really don't want to touch that," Aziraphale advised, trying to sound soothing.
"Hit that and I will kick you in the head!" Ray threatened, eyes lit with an inhuman glow.
"DO NOT TOUCH THAT PUCK," boomed Metatron, with all the authority of Heaven.
The stunned defenseman's stick slid out of his hands as he dropped to his knees and covered his ears. He continued to slide forward on the ice, ears covered and head down, as the the puck glided flawlessly into the net.
The goal was scored, the buzzer blared, and that was it -- game over.
***
Fraser met up with them in the parking lot, after changing into nondescript-looking civvies.
"You're lucky we were here," said Metatron, fishing for thanks.
"Well, yes, thank you," said Fraser. "It was lovely to see you here." Metatron nodded, pleased.
"But we would have won anyway," he added.
"You do not know that, Fraser -- you do not know that!" Ray sputtered.
"I have been working with the team for two weeks. They would have scored in overtime, if not before."
"No way you can know that for certain, Frase. The Devils are a younger team this year. Your guys could have gotten tired."
Fraser shrugged.
"You could have lost! And had to stick around for another game! Don't you care?"
"Well, Ray," Fraser said, maddeningly calm, "I had no doubts. After all, it was in God's hands."
Ray snorted, Metatron's mouth twisted wryly, and Aziraphale sneezed into his snuffbox.
"Come on, wiseguy, let's go home."
heuradys, for her birthday inspiration, general wrongheadedness, and speed beta.Every Angel Is Terrifying
(verse: Three Angels)
The atmosphere in the celestial break room was fractious. Ray was shuffling and re-shuffling the deck of cards and chewing his toothpicks to splinters.
Aziraphale was pretending to read a small volume of poetry, but he kept pulling out his pocket watch and checking it. Metatron was leaning up against the mustard-yellow refrigerator with his arms crossed, scowling disapprovingly at both of them.
The diminutive figure of a little girl with dirty blonde pigtails and coke-bottle glasses wandered in. "You boys really ought to learn patience. It's a valuable skill."
Ray promptly dealt the cards out into formation for solitaire.
"Very good!" the little girl praised, in Her oddly deep-timbred voice. "Humor is an excellent way to divert yourself and others, although you might want to meditate on the concept of 'impertinence,' Ray." She waved Metatron away from the fridge and poured some milk into a faded Scooby-Doo jelly jar.
"You all know that Fraser will return when his assignment is done. I expect you to at least *try* to get along in the absence of his diplomacy." She rinsed out Her empty glass and set it in the sink.
"And don't forget to check the chore wheel," She admonished, as She skipped out the door.
***Some Time Later***
The break room was blanketed in a chilly silence. Metatron and Aziraphale were smoking cigarillos and playing a game called "cutthroat" with homicidal earnestness. Ray was eating pickles out of the jar and watching the smokers jealously.
When the little girl returned, She appeared to be a particularly well-favored high school aged boy.
"I can see you took my advice to heart," He said dryly.
"What kind of mission have you got Fraser on, anyway?" demanded Ray. "My feet are all swollen and I could really use a backrub."
"And it is his turn to do the dishes," noted Aziraphale, indicating the chore wheel with his smoldering stogie.
The young man looked thoughtful.
"Why don't you guys watch a movie while you're waiting? 'Slap Shot' and 'Miracle' are both supposed to be good," He said.
***
After the credits rolled, the trio tried to figure out what He had meant for them to discover by watching the movies.
"Wait a minute. We're stuck here and he's coaching hockey???"
***
"I get the aisle seat," Ray said.
"Oh, you *do*, do you? And why, pray tell, should we agree to that?" Metatron asked with a sneer.
"Because I'm the only one of us who's got to keep his bodily functions going *and* because my bladder is currently being squashed to the size of a peanut," Ray explained testily. "Unless you really want to stand up every time I have to hit the can."
Ray got the aisle seat.
***
Ray flipped through the glossy Rangers program he'd bought. "2010 and they're up against the Devils again. No wonder they need Fraser's help." He tossed the magazine aside and craned his neck, trying to find his partner.
He started to hover over the seat, for the added vantage, but Aziraphale yanked him back down again before Metatron could notice. Ray snarled at him, but Aziraphale just inclined his head towards the Rangers bench, where the team was filing in.
Ray's entire body strained forward until he caught sight of Fraser, who was dressed in a charcoal grey suit and the requisite hideous tie. The arena lights gleamed off the blue-black sheen of his hair, creating a halolike effect.
Ray stood up and waved his arms above his head.
"YO, FRASER!"
Although Fraser was coaching under an assumed name, his head snapped up and a huge smile crossed his face as he sighted the angelic host in the fourth row. He dipped his head in acknowledgment before turning back to concentrate on his players.
Ray settled back into his seat and sat still for the first time in ages.
***Intermission***
The first and second periods were scoreless. It looked like Fraser had done a pretty good job with the team.
Metatron and Aziraphale went to get refills on their beer before the concessionaires stopped selling it.
"Grab me a foot-long with mustard and sauerkraut, okay? And another lemonade." Ray wrinkled his nose. "I've gotta hit the head again." Ray wandered down to the -- miraculously empty -- men's room and entered a stall. He pulled off his T-shirt and let his wings unfurl with a sigh. He couldn't stretch them out in the confines of the stall, but at this point just having them loosed was almost as much of a relief as emptying his bladder. He zipped up and held his shirt in his hand, putting off tucking his wings back in as long as he could.
He'd hardly had time to enjoy a body with no need for digestive functions before he had to keep them up -- and some brand new, scary functions, to boot -- all the time. With a growl of helpless frustration, Ray snapped his wings out, denting the metal walls on either side of the stall on impact.
"Dammit! Fuck! Mmmrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!" he threw a couple of air-punches, then let his fists drop to his sides. He took a few deep breaths and forced himself to relax. "Sorry," he apologized in the general direction of the ceiling.
The stall door flew open and Ray spun, trying to re-furl his wings as quickly as possible.
"Ray," Fraser breathed, and crowded into the already-cramped space.
A quick moment of warmth as Fraser's arms went around his bare shoulders and hauled him close. Ray blindly sought out Fraser's mouth, vision blurred with a sudden attack of hormonal tears, and kissed Fraser like he'd been gone for months instead of two weeks. Fraser's hand slid down to the small of his back, where it traced soothing circles that dipped teasingly beneath Ray's waistband on occasion.
Fraser released Ray, gave his lips a final peck, and attempted to step back. Ray followed and pushed him against the door. Fraser chuckled, low and sensual, and let Ray take his mouth again. When Ray's fingers tangled in the knot of his tie, trying to undo it one-handed, Fraser held them still and pulled reluctantly away.
"I have to get back, Ray," Fraser explained.
"Missed you," Ray said simply.
"I missed you too," Fraser said, cupping Ray's neck and running his free hand down Ray's arm. He plucked the shirt out of Ray's grasp and handed it back to him, saying only, "Soon," before the stall door swung shut behind him.
***Third Period -- 00:20 left***
Ray was twitching in his seat, although his excess of energy could easily be chalked up to the intensity of the game. The third period was scoreless so far, so if the nobody scored in the next twenty seconds, the game would go into overtime, and who knew what would happen. If the Rangers scored, Fraser's job would be done and celestial life would be back to normal (such as it was).
Not four yards in front of them, one of the blue-jerseyed players lined up a shot on the empty Devils' goal.
A red-jerseyed figure raced to block it.
"You really don't want to touch that," Aziraphale advised, trying to sound soothing.
"Hit that and I will kick you in the head!" Ray threatened, eyes lit with an inhuman glow.
"DO NOT TOUCH THAT PUCK," boomed Metatron, with all the authority of Heaven.
The stunned defenseman's stick slid out of his hands as he dropped to his knees and covered his ears. He continued to slide forward on the ice, ears covered and head down, as the the puck glided flawlessly into the net.
The goal was scored, the buzzer blared, and that was it -- game over.
***
Fraser met up with them in the parking lot, after changing into nondescript-looking civvies.
"You're lucky we were here," said Metatron, fishing for thanks.
"Well, yes, thank you," said Fraser. "It was lovely to see you here." Metatron nodded, pleased.
"But we would have won anyway," he added.
"You do not know that, Fraser -- you do not know that!" Ray sputtered.
"I have been working with the team for two weeks. They would have scored in overtime, if not before."
"No way you can know that for certain, Frase. The Devils are a younger team this year. Your guys could have gotten tired."
Fraser shrugged.
"You could have lost! And had to stick around for another game! Don't you care?"
"Well, Ray," Fraser said, maddeningly calm, "I had no doubts. After all, it was in God's hands."
Ray snorted, Metatron's mouth twisted wryly, and Aziraphale sneezed into his snuffbox.
"Come on, wiseguy, let's go home."
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