storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2010-07-06 09:50 am
storypaint) wrote2010-07-06 09:50 am
[Good Omens] Sashay (fem!Crowley/fem!Aziraphale)
Title: Sashay
Fandom: Good Omens
Length: 402 words
Prompt: Genderbent fic: Crowley/Aziraphale for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
beansidhe_baby
Pairing: slight fem!Crowley/fem!Aziraphale
Other: In which they've both always been female.
Excerpt: The demon smirks. She juts out a hip and Aziraphale's fingers immediately fall to the hem of her woolen skirt. She pulls it down a little as if to compensate for Crowley's ridiculous fashion choices.
When the chime rings that signals a visitor to Aziraphale's shop, the angel turns from her shelves and smiles, lifting a hand to tuck a loose hair back behind her ear. But when she sees Crowley, she stops short, hand still in the air.
"Are you-- Trousers, Crowley? Really?"
The demon smirks. She juts out a hip and Aziraphale's fingers immediately fall to the hem of her woolen skirt. She pulls it down a little as if to compensate for Crowley's ridiculous fashion choices. Yes, gender is arbitrary to angels (and former angels), and they aren't really female any more than they are male, but they've been on this dirtball for six thousand years now, and the culture has seeped into them. They both like pretending to be human, and that involves blending in as well as possible.
And for the past six thousand years, women have worn dresses or skirts. Aziraphale has the vague idea that this is the fault of women's lib (though both sides put in for that one, and the jury is still out), but she never thought that Crowley would buy into it.
"Don't you like them, Zira?" Crowley says, grinning. "So much easier than pantyhose. They should have let women try these ages ago."
"You're inspiring lust," Aziraphale says snippily, turning back to her shelving. She read that in the newspaper this morning, in the editorial, and she thinks it's a more appropriate response than the one that she wants to make, which involves faint admiration and asking to borrow them later.
Crowley snorts. "Pssch. More than your high-heeled shoes? They can look all they want as long as they don't try to sample the merchandise." She lowers her shades enough to wink at Aziraphale in the most sinful way.
"You never change," the angel says, shaking her head but smiling.
"I was thinking of cutting my hair short," Crowley says conversationally, and she laughs when Aziraphale gasps. "Shall we?"
She holds the door open while Aziraphale prepares to lock up for lunch, counting under her breath the number of men who pause and stare.
"Seventeen," she says proudly when Aziraphale locks the door behind them.
"We'll see how well you do against gluttony," Aziraphale answers wryly, and off they go down the street, the vixen and the bookshop owner. They make a disparate pair as always, but they hardly notice.
Fandom: Good Omens
Length: 402 words
Prompt: Genderbent fic: Crowley/Aziraphale for
beansidhe_babyPairing: slight fem!Crowley/fem!Aziraphale
Other: In which they've both always been female.
Excerpt: The demon smirks. She juts out a hip and Aziraphale's fingers immediately fall to the hem of her woolen skirt. She pulls it down a little as if to compensate for Crowley's ridiculous fashion choices.
When the chime rings that signals a visitor to Aziraphale's shop, the angel turns from her shelves and smiles, lifting a hand to tuck a loose hair back behind her ear. But when she sees Crowley, she stops short, hand still in the air.
"Are you-- Trousers, Crowley? Really?"
The demon smirks. She juts out a hip and Aziraphale's fingers immediately fall to the hem of her woolen skirt. She pulls it down a little as if to compensate for Crowley's ridiculous fashion choices. Yes, gender is arbitrary to angels (and former angels), and they aren't really female any more than they are male, but they've been on this dirtball for six thousand years now, and the culture has seeped into them. They both like pretending to be human, and that involves blending in as well as possible.
And for the past six thousand years, women have worn dresses or skirts. Aziraphale has the vague idea that this is the fault of women's lib (though both sides put in for that one, and the jury is still out), but she never thought that Crowley would buy into it.
"Don't you like them, Zira?" Crowley says, grinning. "So much easier than pantyhose. They should have let women try these ages ago."
"You're inspiring lust," Aziraphale says snippily, turning back to her shelving. She read that in the newspaper this morning, in the editorial, and she thinks it's a more appropriate response than the one that she wants to make, which involves faint admiration and asking to borrow them later.
Crowley snorts. "Pssch. More than your high-heeled shoes? They can look all they want as long as they don't try to sample the merchandise." She lowers her shades enough to wink at Aziraphale in the most sinful way.
"You never change," the angel says, shaking her head but smiling.
"I was thinking of cutting my hair short," Crowley says conversationally, and she laughs when Aziraphale gasps. "Shall we?"
She holds the door open while Aziraphale prepares to lock up for lunch, counting under her breath the number of men who pause and stare.
"Seventeen," she says proudly when Aziraphale locks the door behind them.
"We'll see how well you do against gluttony," Aziraphale answers wryly, and off they go down the street, the vixen and the bookshop owner. They make a disparate pair as always, but they hardly notice.