#gosh it feels good to finish one of my literally dozens of WIPs finally

[ineffablefool]

Fighting A Duck For My Pants And Winning

This is not how Crowley wants the angel to see his pants.

Not — not that that’s a specific thing he’s into. Even less the kind of stuff people might do together once the pants were off. It’s just… something he’s thought about, now and then. Seems like it might be nice to have someone where pants-seeing didn’t even matter. Where he could maybe wander around the flat, wearing anything or nothing, maybe in his rattiest pyjamas and his bedheadiest hair; and it wouldn’t make a difference to either of them, him or the someone, because the someone would love him. Because they would love each other.

Just one of those idle thoughts.

Obviously not anything he’s thinking about as he cuts through the park towards his flat, plastic bag of clothes swinging from one hand. He’s just bought some amazing sunglasses, and a few new tight-fitting black-adjacent silk shirts to hang up with all the ones he already has. And the pants, of course. Three pairs of boxer briefs with clever little patterns all over them.

Read on AO3

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Some lovely person posted this, and I had to write the fic.  (It just took three and a half months to finish.)

Crowley gets into a fight with a duck!  Over his pants-in-the-British-sense-of-the-word! 

In front of a beautiful angel!

Surely nothing good will come of this humiliation, ever.

(It’s the Soft Zone(TM).  Of course something good comes of it.)