Knife/Swordplay - Kinktober 2024 #17
(Prompt fills for Quefish's Ineffable Kinktober list.)
Some reminiscences in the cottage kitchen, with a re-enactment.
Chapter rating T.
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“Bloody hell, angel, don’t play at that, you’ll do yourself a mischief.”
“I shall do nothing of the sort,” said Aziraphale, machine-gunning a cleaver through two halves of a split aubergine. The resulting slices were transparently thin, symmetrical, and fell in a serried row on the cutting board, as if posing for a food magazine. Aziraphale swept them into a bowl with the edge of the blade and went to work on a fistful of green onions.
“Makes me hold my breath,” winced Crowley.
“You don’t need to breathe.”
“You been watching that Gok show, or something?”
“Mrs. Chiang’s Szechuan Cookbook,” said Aziraphale primly, nodding at the acrylic bookstand on the counter. “And you shall have no complaint when you sit down to a platter of fiery, tender yuxiang qiez.”
“Long’s your thumb’s not in it.”
“Surely you remember,” said Aziraphale, “that I have long experience in the handling of edged implements.”
“Givin’ ’em away, more like.”
“You wound me. Though, in point of fact, you never actually did. Remember all the times we’ve had to pretend to face off against each other? The games of Commodus –”
“The retiarus gig. Yeah, ‘member, we kept it up so long he called it to go for a wee.”
“And Arthur’s Court, with the broadswords. You’d not gone in for the Black Knight business yet then, it was all chain mail, very serpent-scaley. ‘I challenge thee in the name of Lady Ninian’s honour!’ Aziraphale, to Crowley’s surprise, snatched up a cooking mitt and flung it to the lino, seizing a long-handled spoon and raising it menacingly before him. “ ‘Draw thy steel, sirrah!’ You looked like you’d been hit with a wet fish.”
“Wosn’t anything in the assignment about sword fightin’ – just spoil a few reputations, tick the box off Downstairs–”
“You know perfectly well I never had any intention of hurting you. All you had to do was yield. After making it look good, which I may say you seemed to find difficult. I practically had to coach you on the fly.”
“Oh, that’s not how I remember it.” Crowley grabbed the first thing that came to hand – a silicon-tipped pasta fork – and raised it two-handed. “I shall prove the truth of my charges upon thy body!”
“You had your guard away out to the side – I could have just stepped in and –” Aziraphale leaped forward with a swing of the spoon, almost catching Crowley at the hip before he twisted backward into the rolling island.
“Defend thee!” he shouted, bringing in the pasta fork for a waling blow that Aziraphale deftly parried.
“Haven’t learned anything, I see – “
“Made you work for it –” This time the fork got in close, rebounding at the last moment from the steel shank of the spoon.
“I – hff” – Aziraphale sidestepped, knocking one of the kitchen chairs several inches before raising his spoon to deflect another blow – “let you think that –” A measuring cup rolled across the floor as Crowley’s arse caught the rolling island again in a last-second jump. “You’d given me – fft! – the Devil of a time with the Maelgwn business –”
“Wot I do, innit? – sss!” as they locked blades, or more precisely, handles, the rolled steel edge of the spoon singing against the shank of the pasta fork, eyes meeting across the locked implements. With a quick feint and recovery Aziraphale swept the fork down, Crowley briefly losing his grip and diving after it, a light sweat breaking out at the roots of his hair. He rolled just in time to strike the bowl of the spoon away from his throat, pushed up and extended the fork in a slowly wavering guard stance.
“Strung it out, I’ll say that for you –”
“Dear.” Aziraphale was gauging his defence, side-stepping, the spoon shifting minimally side to side. “It was – exhilarating to see you like that. The colour in your cheeks. The flame in your eye. I was quite fetched – I could have gone on all afternoon –”
“Fetched, eh?” panted Crowley, almost landing a blow.
“Yes – I’ll – uh! – confess I – went over the occasion in my mind more than once – hearing your breathing go quick – “
“Oh, had a proper wank, did you?” Crowley’s backhand swipe sent a bunch of carrots cascading to the cheerful rooster-patterned mat.
“As if you – ungh – didn’t –” They were close now, utensils locked, blue eyes inches from golden ones. “We were just like this – could see it in your eyes – my dear, it was quite the worst kept secret in Wessex – prove upon thy body, indeed – ”
“Say that now, but – ngk!”
“I do," said Aziraphale as the pasta fork flew into the window and bounced back to rattle in the basin. His mouth was already on Crowley’s, Crowley’s back against the doorjamb, the spoon tossed aside after a brief moment.
“Mmmf. Defend thee,” he said in a low purr.
“Shan’t,” said Crowley pugnaciously, slightly muffled by the angel’s lips.
“Spoilsport.”
“Spoil you.”
“I rather like the sound of that,” said Aziraphale. “Dinner can wait.”
“Now I know you’re serious.”
“En garde,” said the angel.
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