Title: The Power of Pirates
Pairings: Aziraphale/Crowley
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1846
Summary: Christmas traditions are wonderful, but they don’t always go according to plan.
Disclaimer: I admit it! I made it up!
Notes: For caitirin via the go_exchange for Christmas 2006. ♥

Here we belong, fighting to survive, in a world with the darkest powers, the radio blasted. The Bentley took the turns at more than double the speed limit, but none of the cars on the road paid it any attention.

“Really, my dear,” Aziraphale began, gripping his seat; “you got this thing back with brakes, didn’t you?”

“We don’t want to be late,” Crowley responded, accelerating just slightly and enjoying the resulting reaction from the angel. Sometimes his annoyed squeaks sounded like animals, and that was always fun.


There was a biting chill to the air when they finally reached their destination. The clouds carefully shielded the sun, erasing all hints of warmth. The atmosphere seemed to say, There are dark forces all around. (1)

Aziraphale and Crowley approached the center of the place and got their necessary materials. As they ascended the hill, a man with a gruff voice tapped Crowley harshly on the shoulder. “Excuse me, sir.” Crowley faced the man, not bothering to feign interest. The man had a rather sharp saw in his right hand.

“What can we do for you?” Aziraphale chimed in cheerfully.

The man lifted the saw, closer and closer to Crowley’s arm, then… rummaged around in his pocket to find a small device. He smiled at Aziraphale. “Could you take a picture of us? It’s for the wife.” The man turned to gesture at his wife and son as well as the Christmas tree they had selected.

“Of course, my good man!” He handed the camera to Aziraphale, who regarded it with a shocked expression. “Is this… it?”

The man’s son responded with a loud, “Duh!” that earned him a smack from his mother. Aziraphale wondered if the attitudes of small children were at all influenced by Crowley. No, he decided, noticing at the scowl Crowley was directing at the child, perhaps not.

“Ah, let me just,… what… heh…”

“Here, let me do it,” Crowley finally interrupted, taking the small device from the flustered Aziraphale. He had simply been adjusting the focus of the camera, which appeared to be stuck.

Free of his former task, Aziraphale herded the family to a good position in front of their newly selected Christmas tree.

Crowley quickly snapped the picture. The kid’s eyes were closed, but Crowley just assumed he had done it on purpose. He returned the camera and hurried Aziraphale away before the family could ask for any more favors. He had a reason to be here, and he wasn’t about to lose focus.


The Christmas tree occupied the larger portion of Crowley’s living room. Crowley had insisted that they get the 9 foot tree, even though Aziraphale was nearly certain Crowley’s ceiling had been 8 feet high prior to the occasion.

It is a common theory that demons do not enjoy Christmas. If that theory was in fact true, Crowley was the exception. He had developed his own Christmas traditions over the years, and only incorporated Aziraphale into them for the last 50 years. Christmas was fun, but Aziraphale was sometimes a bit too cheery about it. He didn't want to give the wrong impression. He was still a demon, after all.

One of their traditions involved the Arrangement, but neither of the two acknowledged the fact. They bought gifts for a handful of carefully selected children for Christmas. Crowley could report this as furthering the image of selfishness in connection with Christmas. Aziraphale could report it as promoting the giving nature in young people. Also, every year, while decorating the tree, Crowley would make a comment about putting Aziraphale on top of the tree. (2) This was another tradition.

On this day, they would start a new tradition.


“Pirates are really given a bad image,” Aziraphale mused, holding up a pirate ornament. “That Jack Sparrow fellow was quite attractive.”

Crowley opted not to waste his time explaining, again, that it had only been a movie. “Since when do you find people attractive?”

Aziraphale shrugged and found an appropriate branch for the ornament. “Since Jack Sparrow, I suppose.”

Crowley stared at him. “I’m more attractive than Jack Sparrow,” he decided, then went back to tree decorating.

Aziraphale appeared to consider this for a few seconds before shaking his head. “No, my dear, you don’t count. We’re sexless, after all.” He turned to look at Crowley, and upon seeing his angry expression, hurriedly added, “Well, what I mean is, you’re no more sexual than I am.”

This comment wasn’t helping matters. Aziraphale didn’t have to see past Crowley’s sunglasses to know that the demon’s eyes were red. Crowley didn’t respond; he simply laid down the ornament he was holding and walked out of the room.

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale removed the pirate ornament from the tree and placed it back in its box. “What a mess I’ve made of things.”


He found Crowley outside, sitting in the Bentley. The passenger door was locked, but Aziraphale got in anyway. “I’m sorry I upset you, my dear,” he began. “I was just…”

“Joking?” Crowley interjected. “Angels shouldn't lie, Mr. Fell. You and I both know you don’t tease.” He still would not look at Aziraphale, but he did remove his death grip on the steering wheel. “You wouldn't have said it if you didn't mean it.”

“Well,… it’s just…,” Aziraphale pondered the situation. “It’s just that I’ve never thought about it before. It’s been one of those things that was just… outside the realm of possibility, I suppose.”

“You know we’re not completely sexless,” Crowley added.

Aziraphale blushed, but Crowley missed it as he was still looking ahead. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“You keep saying, ‘I suppose.’”

“I’m not on familiar ground anymore.”

Crowley laughed, but it was a harsh sound.

“I wish you wouldn't be like this,” Aziraphale said, feeling desperately awkward.

“Am I being unreasonable?” Crowley asked, his voice taking on a dangerous tone.

Aziraphale sighed. “I don’t understand why you took such offense. Just because I hadn’t thought…”

“Okay, yes, I understand. New concept. But now, you’ve been thinking on the subject, and you’ve formed an opinion.” Crowley turned his gaze on Aziraphale for the first time. “So?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks turned a deep shade of pink. “Can we talk about this inside?”


Crowley narrowed his eyes. His eyes were hidden behind dark shades, but he got the point across. “I don’t believe you.” The lights on the tree twinkled cheerfully, in no way reflecting Crowley’s current mood.

“What?” Aziraphale exclaimed in surprise.

“I think you’re just telling me what you think I want to hear.”

“Would I do that?” Aziraphale said in his best let’s-be-reasonable voice.

“You tried to just now, in the car,” Crowley responded, in his best I-am-being reasonable voice. “Remember? ‘I was just joking,’ you said.”

“No,” Aziraphale insisted, “No I did not. I never finished that sentence, and I never intended to. I was going to let you finish it for yourself.”

A smirk settled on Crowley’s features, despite his previously apparent anger. “Well, weren’t you sneaky. I’m impressed.”

Aziraphale smiled, blushing slightly. “So, what would it take to make you believe me?”

Crowley shook his head. He reached into the box of ornaments and pulled out the pirate that had started this whole thing. “Just forget about it, angel.”

A wave of stubbornness overtook Aziraphale. He spun Crowley around to face him, then pressed his lips onto Crowley’s. One beat passed… then two… There was a dull thud as the ornament hit the floor, and Aziraphale pulled back to look at it. He looked back up into Crowley’s shocked expression.

Crowley used his free hand to remove his sunglasses, revealing eyes widened in utter surprise. His other arm was still held in Aziraphale’s grip.

Aziraphale immediately began blushing and stuttering. “I, er… I mean, I thought m-maybe… should I have… oh, bother.”

Crowley smirked at him. He leaned in, meeting Aziraphale for a kiss that was longer lasting and far less forced than the first.

When Crowley’s tongue snaked into Aziraphale’s mouth, the angel uttered a surprised “oh.” Crowley decided that noise was far more enjoyable than the angel’s annoyed noises. (3)

Aziraphale wasn't entirely sure that he was allowed to do this sort of thing. However, he also hadn’t been entirely sure that he was allowed to avert the apocalypse, and he’d already gone and done that. Also, he was fairly certain that something that felt this good couldn't be entirely wrong.

Crowley started to pull away. Aziraphale surprised both himself and Crowley by placing his hands on Crowley’s face and holding the kiss for a few moments longer.

Crowley took a half-step back, looking Aziraphale up and down, up and down. It has been said that angels are sexless unless they really want to make an effort. At that moment, Aziraphale was making the effort. “I suppose I believe you now,” Crowley rasped.

Aziraphale’s blush may have appeared permanent by that point. Crowley captured Aziraphale’s attention again with a touch of lips, but he kept it with his exploring tongue and exploring hands. Aziraphale wasn't sure what he should do in return, but Crowley just circled Aziraphale’s arms around himself and continued the kiss.

Finally, Crowley pulled back enough to whisper, “We should finish decorating the tree,” against Aziraphale’s lips.

Aziraphale uttered a gentle moan. Another surprising reaction. Crowley gave him a wild look. “We’ll continue this after.”

Aziraphale nodded, not yet trusting his own voice.


A little later, Crowley placed the star on top of the tree without saying a word about it.

“What, no jokes about putting the angel on top of the tree?” Aziraphale asked, smiling brightly.

“Honestly, I’d rather have you under it this year. And,” Crowley stepped into Aziraphale’s personal space, “you can leave off the wrapping, too.”

Aziraphale swallowed audibly. Crowley kissed him calmly, gently, and all too quickly. He hurried away to add further decorations to the tree.

“You’re evil,” Aziraphale grumbled.

“That’s generally the idea,” Crowley said over his shoulder. He pulled the last of the decorations from the box.

“I’m going to get some chocolate while you finish up,” Aziraphale announced.

“Oh, get some for me as well,” Crowley called after him.

Crowley could hear the wicked smirk in Aziraphale’s answer. “Oh yes, my dear, it’s going to be for you. We’re going to find out just how skilled that tongue of yours is.”

Crowley made a low, guttural sound. “Now who’s evil!?” he yelled toward the kitchen.

“It’s still you,” Aziraphale insisted when he returned, licking liquid chocolate off his fingers, “but…”

“You’re learning?” Crowley asked.

“I never said that.” There was a gleam in Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Ah,” Crowley responded, confidently. “Ineffable.”


(1) But it said it with the sort of enthusiasm of someone only acknowledged by radical religious leaders and sometimes frogs.

(2) One time, Crowley had gone so far as to conjure up a fixture in Aziraphale’s exact likeness and place it atop the tree. Aziraphale was not amused.

(3) Even if that one time Aziraphale had sounded exactly like a duck.

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