Summary: Ford Prefect and Crowley encounter each other in a bar.
Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy / GO
Categories: Crossovers Characters: None
Chapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 943 Read: 188
Published: 20 Sep 2005 Updated: 20 Sep 2005
Ford Sells His Soul by frabjous
"Bloody stupid if you as'me," Ford said. There was something off about this human...he wasn't sure he was even human, but he looked humanoid enough and he'd offered lots of obscenely expensive wine, which was good enough for Ford.
"What?" Crowley asked, pouring the man another glass. There was something off about this mortal...he was sure he wasn't human, but he looked vaguely humanoid except for the teeth when he first smiled, and he looked full of good stories and moral flexibility, which was good enough for Crowley.
"All these monkeys walkin' around thinking they're all alone in the universe, when they can't even be bothered to go to Alpha Centauri," muttered Ford over another glass, getting steadily more drunk.
"Just the, the big yellow, the moon, yeah?" Crowley asked. Just because you were a flash bastard with a flash flat didn't mean you knew everything about space. He poured himself another glass. "Are you going to tell me you're a green wiggly man? Ducked...abdutte...taken?" Pathetic conspiracy theorists...but they were Crowley's, and he was generally very indulgent towards them.
"I can tell you exactly where, if you can get the stupid aurora off this stupid city and let me see the stupid bloody stars," Ford moaned, absolutely certain this was wine so obscenely expensive you could have sold it at a Sotheby's auction. It was going to his head much stronger than usual weak alcoholic beverages. "Bloody Betelgeuse. Bloody five years and counting, stuck on the most boring planet on the most boring arm of the galaxy."
"I like Earth. I don't have a choice, I'm stationed here, field...pers...sheep...agent for down under, six thousand year-old assignment if you think five years is long. Live with it, there's always alco-alkli-wine," replied Crowley, wondering at the very existence of this humanoid creature who was clearly telling the truth, as the demon wasn't getting a warm fuzzy feeling off the veracity register.
"Human stuff's too weak. Yer all the same, an' I bet you've got a thwarter always in yer way, an' I bet it's not so bad after the first thousand years, an' yer physicists make me ill, so I've got it worse as I'm stuck with a dumb radio announcer who is obsessed with tea. Wants to marry it, wants to have sex with it, wants to do everything with tea and never with me," sang Ford, slinging an arm around Crowley's neck and dragging the equally drunk demon down with him. "But yer want ter know a secret?"
"Sure," said the demon with a tempting smile.
"I'm really lookin' fer green Betelgeusan trading ships," whispered Ford. "I'd do anythin', I'd give anythin', just ter see those buggers again, just ter get home."
"Anything?" Crowley hissed, smelling the heavy alien smell of Ford, and knew he was talking to somebody who belonged on this planet even less than Crowley himself did. Could he get a commendation for a non-human soul?
"Anything," Ford re-affirmed, looking mournfully into his Crowley's sunglasses, their noses almost touching. He was frightfully good, and out-stared the mirrored reflection on those dark lenses. Crowley removed them, and was mildly surprised to find that Ford didn't even blink, much less leap back in astonishment and make the sign of the Cross or something. It always annoyed Crowley to no end.
"You're in luck today, you're in luck. The thing is," Crowley said, wavering in Ford's uncanny stare. "The thing is, 'ts m'business, see, m'very business to provide you with anything." He brought up one finger, but their stares didn't waver. "For a price. Floaty thing, makes you glow."
"Gas?" The stare didn't break, even when Crowley's tongue forked a bit.
"No no no, inside you," Crowley said, then re-considered the idea of gas within a human being. "Can't touch it unless you're dead or really high." The Aztecs had been really keen on the idea when Crowley first revealed that little bit. Unfortunately he neglected to add several other important components to seeing souls when you're high--illegal substances is just a small part of the mix, as you've got to be insane too.
"Rainbows? Colours gettin' high and making them all the time, bloody bastards," Ford said, nose and smile inching ever closer. "Like in your eyes, demon." He released the noun into the air and it made Crowley shiver with vanity. He was almost, almost, making Crowley uncomfortable, but he'd never been out-stared in his existence and he wasn't going to start now.
"Souls," breathed Crowley, before Ford touched his nose with his own and Crowley fell backwards and suddenly Ford was on top of him, squirming and lustful and with sinning very much in mind and Crowley knew he was an alien because Ford's stressed out sexually tense state was giving Crowley an exact idea of how homesick he was and Crowley found he could entirely comprehend it and hit Ford with a dose of his own secret private homesickness he kept locked up in the cupboard of his heart under the duck-patterned towel and his favourite plant.
"It's yours already," mumbled Ford, reeling from the sensation of the full impact of Heaven's infinite distance from Crowley, and then tried to kiss him.
Later, at his flat, Ford taught Crowley more weird things to do with his tongue.
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