Log, Ongoing

[saunturing-down.livejournal.com]

When; March 7th, Genre Switch day
Rating; M- cause Crowley and Az can’t control their libidos no matter WHAT genre they’re in.
Characters; Mainly Azira Fell wingedly and Police Chief Crowley sauntering_down
Summary; On Genre Switch day, Aziraphale, the usually sweet, kind, bubbly angel becomes the Bounty Hunter Azira Fell, and the snarky, sarcastic demon Crowley becomes the hardened Police Chief Anthony J. Crowley, hot on the trail of drug lord Has-Tur. (so far)Mentions alter egos of Zaheela henkonasuisho, Nill caged_song, Lyra [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com], Jas Hook ironhook, and Cirucci [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com]
Log;


He was Police Chief Anthony J. Crowley. In a city full of constant crime, it was a job that never ended. As a demon, Crowley had no need for sleep, and practically lived his life off coffee and cigarettes. They were currently on the trail of one Has-Tur, often called the “Duke of Hell” in the back alleys of which he ruled, selling drugs to every single unsuspecting person who would buy one. Well, actually, at this point, only he was on the trail of Has-Tur, being that, for some reason, the policemen behind him had disappeared. Probably went back to the station to flirt with Miss Nill, the new secretary. Crowley was about ready to knock all their heads in for it; Miss Nill was a sweet young woman who obviously had no idea why their attentions were being lavished upon her. Hopefully the Captain (James Hook, or “Captain Hook”, as he was often referred to) would keep them at bay. Stupid rookies. Crowley scowled, dropping the cigarette from his lips and crushing it with his foot, before drawing the gun at his side, crouching low to the ground has he crept towards where it was suspected Has-Tur was hiding.

He spotted a stack of boxes near a window and crept up onto a couple of them, peering through the window over his dark sunglasses, yellow eyes glinting even through the lack of light. Nothing...where was he? Crowley had been certain this was his hideout but---

To the majority of the worthlessly rugged scum that inhabited throughout the backwater alleyways of the city streets, the particularly nimble curly headed blonde was known only as the Angel of Death, for the angel’s greatest attribute happened to pertain to his purely innocent outer appearance to which on many an occasion proved to be his victim’s ultimate end. With a grace obtained by no other, the wickedly angelic professionally financed Bounty Hunter had a rather unnatural gift with the art of motion and could simply ease his merry way into any and every probable situation, a small breathy sigh the last thing one would hear before having their neck sliced, rather neatly for a popularly supposed deranged psychopath. Though the angel, whose name had been discovered to actually have been a one Mister Azira Fell when legal documents upon his background were called into question by the Police force, was most certainly not one to commit heinous acts of murder unless they were absolutely required and the one being targeted did in fact deserve such a treatment. And in most cases, these happened to pertain to largely popular as well as exceedingly corrupt political figures that ruled over the city in question.

“Hm—surprise, surprise,” Azira made a low, thoughtfully pleased sort of noise from the back of his dry throat and paused upon the threshold of the rooftop overhead, a rather large elaborately designed gun made by himself in hand, half lidded cobalt eyes ablaze from within the blanket of darkness the late afternoon provided as they rested upon his most favored opponent of the law. On many a past occasion, the Bounty Hunter had discovered himself at opposing ends of the varied rebellions having taken place within the government along with the Chief of Police who unlike any other force of the political funding had proved to be a worthy opponent, as well as something rather pretty to look at.

The hairs on the back of Crowley’s neck prickled. He was being watched. And something told him that he wasn’t being watched by just anyone. His head snapped backwards, immediately spotting the figure perched on the roof. To many, no one would’ve seen the shape, but Crowley was looking for it. He grunted, flipping backwards off the boxes with a speed that Zah Heela (A sniper in another division and a good friend of his) would’ve been proud of. He pointed his gun up as he fell, firing off three shots at the figure, his golden eyes glinting over the top of his sunglasses. He knew who it was; he could smell it. The Angel of Death…Azira Fell!

Some things just couldn’t be helped, that fact Mister Fell had been rudely introduced to when being severed from every probable relation within his family at the age of a mere teen youth, after having been mistaken as a legitimate child for so long thanks to the unconditional love of his father, everything just very simply wouldn’t always stay with the tides of good fortune. After a thoroughly conducted search upon the subject at hand when it came time for the political representative of the city to choose the son amongst the four that he had produced whom would succeed him, their grandmother had stepped forward before a room overcrowded with the greatest figures of their known government and declared one of the son’s in question to not only be a bastard, but a threat to them all in the future for an uprising. With that, the unlucky Azira was abruptly thrown out onto the streets with nothing else but the clothes upon his back and erased from the Soho family name, forced into making his way throughout the cold reality of life in search of an entirely new identity. Here, as with all unfortunate things, Azira stumbled upon the wrong collection of city dwellers and proceeded to use his sharp wit along with a few charms thanks to his rather soft, nearly cherubic looks in order to get what he needed to indeed bring about that very rebellion his disgustingly political relations so desperately feared. Though strangely enough, this attractive Chief of Police had discovered these very facts about the Angel of Death even though there were no legal records of his birth or anything thereof, the revelation of such a notion causing the Bounty Hunter to blink and experience a rare emotion of being astonished, especially by someone of the government’s influence.

A soft smile pulled at Azira’s skilled lips at his ever so deeply significant opponent’s first reaction to sensing his presence, almost languidly allowing his grip upon the building wall to release and his small form to ease backward with a graceful speed, landing upon the city streets below with two gentle shoes, rising from the perfectly calculated move with a blush, handmade gun hanging loosely from his jutted hip in a rather flirty manner. “Ah, dearest Officer—what have I done wrong?”

Crowley straightened with a smirk as Azira landed in front of him, and the Chief of Police lifted his hand not holding his gun to tug off his sunglasses and tuck them into his pocket, not taking his eyes off the Bounty Hunter. “Never know with you, Fell.” he stated, in a low drawl. “Knowing you, it’sssss probably something.” Besides, it’s not like he wouldn’t have fired the gun if he hadn’t known that the angel could dodge it. After all, this was not the time to piss the Angel off at him; Lyra (Crowley’s daughter from his ex-wife) was sick, and he couldn’t get injured right now. He wouldn’t be able to take care of her if he was hurt...His yellow eyes scanned the figure across from him, first as an officer of the law, checking for any hidden weapons that he could find, and secondly just because he was rather nice to look at. But that was beside the point. “Now, if you’ll excusssssssse me...I have a criminal to catch.” His eyes narrowed.

“Though...I almost sssssshould be asking what you’redoing here, Fell?”

With a soft hum, the angel placed the elaborately designed gun back into its holster upon his curved hip with a delicate hand, warm cobalt glance traveling rather lazily upward across the policeman’s various outer attributes, the blush upon the bridge of his pale nose giving away the fact that he had always been rather fond of the opponent as radical as such a notion sounded. “Oh, dear me.” Gently easing forward with a exceedingly sinful grace despite his rather angelic expression of mild naivety, Azira placed a comforting hand upon Crowley’s muscled chest with his palm out almost as if to offer a somewhat truce, the angel’s body language speaking wordlessly as he leaned upon one hip, warm blue eyes gazing upward at the other with a smoldering look beneath light eyelashes.

“Looking for Has-tur, hm? Maybe you should be asking me, Crowley. So uptight this evening . .” Playing a bit with the collar of the officer’s shirt, he breathed out with a pleased sigh and adorned quite a bored look, though he was far from being disinterested, something the man of the law should have picked up on by now. Why in the world the Angel of Death was doing this he couldn’t precisely explain himself, though he utterly adored flirting with the Chief of Police to no ends.


Crowley stiffened as the angel came far too close, yellow eyes narrowing as long pale fingers fiddled with his collar. “Of coursssssse.” he stated, in response to the angel’s inquiry. “Although I can’t say I completely trussssst my source.” He would never trust the Swallow (her real name was CeeCee, which stood for her first and last names, Cirru Cee) completely; there was no reason for him to. Crowley had attempted to put her away for murder, once, but she had escaped the slammer by the skin of her teeth. He cocked his head to the side.

“....you have information, Angel?”

Sighing rather heavily through his nose in a most unnecessary manner, the angel in question had always been exceedingly adept within the world of dramatics though drone politics and the ever constant discussion of merely business made him slightly displeased, at best. “Tsk, tsk my dear—have you forgotten my language? It has been a long while, has it not . .” The angel had also obtained a great liking to wording questions in the form of statements, anything at all unconventional usually finding its way into his busy schedule should he choose to dabble in such things as the way he titled his delicate chin to the right side while a shadow fell over his mild expression, causing the smile to appear rather morbid. “—you have anything worthy to give, dear Officer?” With a soft murmur, Azira drew the pad of his thumb over Crowley’s lower lip gently, cobalt eyes growing rather warm as he eased the finger over his opponent’s distinct jawline and softly tucked a lock of dark hair behind his ear, ever so slightly scratching his earlobe before allowing his arm to rest upon the other’s shoulder, curved hip just barely grazing his as he leaned forward, practically exuding lust.

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. He had half an inkling to what this Angel of Death was requesting, and as tempting as the offer was...He moved lightning fast, taking the angel’s wrist in a firm grip and tugging the assassin to him and flipping him around, twisting his arm behind his back, bringing his own standard gun up with the other hand and pressing it against his temple.

“I’m not interested in games, Angel.” he hissed, yellow eyes glowing in the moonlight, shoving down the distinct urge to shove the pretty angel up against the wall and give in to what he had been wanting to do to the man for at least six months. But as he always did, he restrained himself.

Making a low, hoarse sort of noise that was most certainly unlike the usually composed figure of the angel who prided himself on all things structured and improbably neat, he was forced into chewing upon his bottom lip with a small smirk, cerulean gaze growing half lidded as a pretty little idea popped into his head. “Yes you are,” tilting his long pale neck backward to rest his head upon the other man’s strong shoulder, Azira nuzzled his blushing nose into the crook just beneath Crowley’s earlobe, breathing hotly as he all but groaned those three simple words in a blanketed warning before he gently rocked his hips backward against the other.


Crowley’s eyes widened slightly as the angel tipped his head back and rocked his hips back against his own. His hand tightened, finger nails digging into the bounty hunter’s wrist as he fought against the wave of lust that threatened to incompase him and throw him so far off his game that he doubt he would get it back tonight. He just had to...remain...in. control---

And that was so not happening tonight.

With a low growl, he set his teeth on the side of the Angel’s neck, sharp demonic canines biting down into the soft skin, marking. He pulled his head back slightly, licking the mark with his forked tongue as his yellow eyes darkened to deep golden in the dark night. “Ready to talk yet?” he hissed, low.

The angel had never felt this before, probably at one time during the course of his sheltered childhood he had been deluded enough to mistake his relations for loving creatures, but this was a vastly different field they were playing on now and made things a great deal more difficult to explain. “That’s right, dear—” the bounty hunter all but purred with overwhelming heat traveling throughout his form in waves, making him tremble as he exposed more of his pale neck with a soft moan, gently sucking delicately upon the policeman’s lower earlobe to return the favor as he was only able to squeeze the hand that held his wrist.

“I’ll say what you ask.” And whether or not he was being wholeheartedly truthful Azira couldn’t precisely state, knees growing weak with the force of will it took not to quite literally pounce upon Crowley after so long a time spent in waiting of this, remaining mildly patient as he proceeded to ease his small, curved hips backward again in a more gentle, agonizingly languid fashion.

Crowley’s eyes narrowed, jaw tightening as Azira rolled his hips back against the demon’s a second time. The information so easily wrenched from the Angel’s pretty form, but how trustworthy was it? Probably not very, but...with the assassin pressing against him like that, he couldn’t give too much of a damn. “Will you?” he hissed, in a rich, dark, slightly rough voice. “And how trustworthy will that information be?” His fangs scraped against the side of Azira’s throat, enough to scratch but not enough to break the skin. He rocked his hips back against the other, letting him feel the hardness pressing through the front of his black slacks.

So he had wanted this, then? Many would have argued that the cherubic assassin was a highly smug little thing, knowing exactly how to calculate the desires of others and bend them to his will accordingly, though the officer had always been a special case, to say the least. “Hum,” offering a soft humming noise from the back of his throat at the delightfully sharp fangs upon his pale neck, the angel artfully slipped the hand that had been captured at the wrist downward from behind him to rest between them and gently squeezed the bulge of his opponent’s slacks, cerulean gaze becoming dilated with these newest occurrences. “Ask,” Azira stated flatly, lips parted as he panted just a bit with the effort.

Crowley hissed, almost a snarl against the Angel’s neck as he jerked his hips into the blond’s hand. His first question was growled against Azira’s neck as the hand that had been holding the man’s wrist slid around to his front, fingertips teasingly skimming over his stomach, toying with the waistband of the assassin’s pants. “Firsssssst question.” He nipped at a spot behind Azira’s ear. “Where is Has-Tur’s hideout?”



“Ah,” giving a breathless pant in answer to the question as the officer’s hand gently caressed over the line of his abdomen, the angel had nearly lost all senses within those ever so brief moments spent between them before the screech of a vehicle’s tires brought the assassin’s calculating mindset to the forefront of the particularly messy situation at hand. At least for him, if he weren’t able to do the job asked of him by daybreak, he would have a kidnapped and unknowing younger sister on his hands, something the angelic hunter could never forgive himself for despite the fact that he was assumed to be heartless. Throwing a mildly intrigued cerulean glance over toward the direction of the passing truck upon the street next to the alleyway in question, a soft “The docks—abandoned warehouse, to the left of the sailboats” escaped him without consent, which startled the angel to no ends for the information was exceedingly accurate and truthful.

With a blasphemous curse word growled past his bruised lips from worrying them for such a long time, Az gracefully slipped out of Crowley’s arms as if he were merely of a purely water element, the only mild apology he was capable to leave behind being a quick, ever so heated glance over his opponent’s entire body form before resting upon his gaze and a warm blush expressing the promises he was unable to put into words. This, having taken place within the span of about two seconds, was ended as the angel took off down the street to leap over any obstacles within the dank alleyways in his path as if he were a delicate, lean cat stretching out it’s fantastically nimble muscles with a swift duck of the curly head and a gentle pivot of it’s light feet, always on guard. Coming closer to the docks now as the overhanging street lamps grew dim with a meek flicker of light, the angel paused over the threshold of a low building from the roof to watch the figure of the sleazy though exceedingly famed lawyer Newt who took on the side job position as making love to rather unwilling young partners when the time and money required arose, blue eyes paled with mild disinterest. This case would prove easy to—

Grabbed from behind by the collar of his shirt with a violent tug that sent the angel sprawling backwards against the cold pavement of the building’s rooftop, he wasn’t permitted to utter a sound past a muffled squawk as a particularly rancid hand slid a gag over his mouth with skilled determination. One bright cobalt eye opened as the other closed tightly at the sharp ache this offered, the Angel of Death soon found that the magnificently angered Duke of Hell had effectively pinned him down by his waist with a grind of his larger hips and pressed his wrists into the cement tightly, the sickeningly red gaze flaring with unsuppressed jealousy, as far as the angel could tell. “Leaving me, are you?” Drug Lord, Duke of All Bad Tidings, Somebody One Shouldn’t Be Stuck in a Dark Alley With, or more commonly known as Has-tur growled with an animal snarl as he lent down to breathe hotly into Az’s ear which only proved to produce a perfectly terrified wince from the assassin now being victimized, once more. “Don’t want to give your boss a fucking break, pretty Angel? My sweet, pretty little Angel . . I’ll break you, fucker.”

Crowley was just as surprised as Azira as the angel gave him a location quite near to the one the Swallow had given him. His yellow eyes widened in shock, and he was unable to grasp the other man before he slipped out of his grasp, disappearing down the dark alley. The policeman hissed in irritation, attempting to take off after him, keeping his eye on the lithe shadow moving lightly from building to building. He skidded to a stop, though, slipping into a dark alley as, right in front of him, Newt, a high-powered lawyer in the city, went running out ahead of him. Crowley frowned, following after Newt for a bit as they got closer to the docks. He stepped back further into the shadows again, however, as a familiar smell hit his nose; not one he liked.

He snarled slightly, softly, as he spotted the hulking form of Has-Tur climbing up the fire escape to the roof of a building. What the---? Fuck whatever Newt was doing, Crowley wanted to know what Has-Tur was up to, especially since he wanted to put the man behind bars. He jetted out from the shadows he was lurking in towards the building, following Has-Tur up the fire escape once the crime lord had reached the roof. He skittered up the stairs, his pace quickening as he heard a brief scuffle up on the roof. Crowley pulled himself up onto the roof, mouth pulling into a snarl as he watched the crime lord shove the angel down. He didn’t really give a second thought to the consequences, only acting on instinct has his long, silent strides took him over there, and he wrenched the Duke of Hell off the angel by his collar and threw him to the side, shoving his knee in the demon’s back, cuffing his hands behind his back, and drawing his gun to point it at the back of Has-Tur’s skull all in one, swift movement.

“You’re fucking lucky that I’m a policeman. If I’d be anything else, I would’ve shot you on sight.” he snarled, managing to wrangle his radio out of his belt and speaking into it. “This is the Chief to the station, I have Has-Tur cuffed and held, we are on the roof of building 6 in the docks nearby section 3. I repeat, we are on the roo—"