Fandom: Good Omens - Rating: Teen and Up - Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley - Content Warnings: Innuendo Word Count: 918 Challenge: Stuck Inside My Head, @flashfictionfridayofficial
Aziraphale wants a final shot at magic.
Disclaimer: Please excuse any heinous or annoying errors. Writing "fast" and on a deadline is not my forte.
“...Shades of a very light gray, I'd rather fancy....”
Aziraphale’s words trailed off. Crowley could feel his body relax, vertebrae by vertebrae, as the memories of the evening began to lose their edge. He rolled his shoulders and breathed a long, relieved sigh. Aziraphale raised his glass to his lips then stalled, blinking slowly, intentionally. He could feel the serpents eyes on him.
“Do you know what I’d really like?”
Crowley’s eyes flicked and fixed on Aziraphale over the rims of his glasses.
“I’d really like...to do one more show.”
Crowley planted his glass on the table with a light thump.
“Oh, you can’t be serious. After all this?”
“We’re here now, and I do love it so. Bit hard to say goodbye to it for good.”
“Do you really think she’s going to let you back on stage?”
“Why not? There’s no one else here to perform, and it's still early.”
“Angel, I don’t think there’s anything in your current repertoire that’s going to top that.” Crowley picked up his glass again and gestured with it toward the dressing room door. “I will not be pointing anymore implements of destruction in your direction tonight.” He sipped.
“I’ll improvise then.” Aziraphale waved his hand above his head enthusiastically. A dead dove fell from his sleeve, hitting the carpet with a crunchy thud.
Crowley grimaced, staring at the lump of feathers.
“Might want to quit while you’re ahead,” Crowley muttered, then raised two fingers casually from his glass and twitched. The dove flapped and stood, then suddenly flew over them both, leaving several white splats on Aziraphale’s vest and coat. Aziraphale closed his eyes and sighed. Crowley ducked and held his hat protectively as the bird settled on the window sill. He scanned his suit and examined his hat, then looked at the angel who was slowly opening his eyes with another sigh.
The bird cooed innocently.
“Right then. New costume."
“Oh...ohhhhhhh Crowley! Must…you be so rough?” Aziraphale gasped.
“Just... hold... still.” Crowley’s voice strained, his face reddening with each word. Aziraphale braced himself against the dressing table, his eyes pressed shut with discomfort.
“OOF! Crowley, please – not so hard!” Beads of sweat were forming on the angel’s forehead, threatening his pancake makeup.
A light, hesitant voice doing it’s best to sound like it carried authority could be heard from down the hall.
“We don’t have much time...oooof!” Aziraphale hissed. “Crowley! Not so hard! Please!”
“Almost there, just...once...more….”
“OOF! If you would just – OW! BE GENTLE!”
A tragically pale, thin woman opened the dressing room door.
She gasped, then gawked at them, at Crowley pressed against Aziraphale’s back, before hastily shutting the door. They sighed in unison.
Crowley tied the laces of the corset as tightly as he could and tucked it under the back of Aziraphale’s coat. Neither knew who had worn it prior, but it was there, in the room, as was the tuxedo, which looked magical enough to suit Aziraphale’s sensibilities.
“Angel, can’t we just miracle something that fits?”
“It wouldn’t be the same. This has authenticity. A final performance should have at least that.”
The angel’s face fell as he studied himself in the mirror.
“It’s going to be awful.”
“Can’t think that way. You’re getting stuck inside your head.” Crowley gestured at his temple, wiggling his fingers in the air.
“Stuck inside my head?” Aziraphale scoffed.
“Second guessing yourself, over and over and over again.”
“I know what it means, Crowley.”
“Listen, it’s simple. If you want to do this, then you do it. If not, there’s always more wine, and….”
“But what if it’s awful? Again?”
“How many more dead birds have you got up your sleeve?”
“I didn’t know I had that one.”
Crowley breathed in, reigning in his amusement and gazed at him softly, then smirked.
“You’re a much better angel than magician,” he whispered.
“Well that’s not saying much, is it?”
Crowley shrugged one shoulder and poked out his lower lip, considering.
“Depends who’s looking.” He glanced over Aziraphale’s shoulder at their reflection in the mirror. "I think it’s saying quite a lot.”
Aziraphale watched Crowley’s expression as he stood behind him, then adjusted the much-too-tight corset that was wedging him into his borrowed pants. He took a deep breath, or tried to, then smiled warmly at their images in the mirror. Their attention jerked to a sudden flurry of activity outside the door.
“Time to go.” Crowley moved quickly and guided Aziraphale toward the door, handing him a rough but “authentic” top hat. “Awful or not, enjoy it. Then get back in here and take that ridiculous thing off.”
“You are coming, aren’t you?” Aziraphale turned to him anxiously.
“Of course I am! How is that even a question?”
Aziraphale smiled. However it turned out, doing what he loved and having Crowley in the audience was enough. He reached for Crowley’s wrist.
More rustling in the hall.
“Go on. I’ll follow you.”
“Improvising, yes?” The angel whispered with a nod, his familiar delighted excitement returning as he hurried out the door.
“Improvising. Yes,” Crowley murmured, out of earshot of the angel who was already gone. Crowley rolled his wrist, shook his hand at his side and wiggled his fingers - wiggling, extending, wiggling, extending, as if preparing for miracle power to flow through them more easily.
He was preparing. He was quite sure he’d be needing it.
