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Jun 28

Our Side - a Good Omens fanfic

Hello! It's been a long time since I posted my writing, and since I had so much fun writing character interaction. So, without much further ado, I present Our Side, a fix-it break of fourth wall fic with a lot of bickering and some well-deserved fluff (and smut, of course). Read on AO3 or under the page break. Enjoy and please do let me know what you think 💙

“One does NOT simply write into the Book of Life!”

“Oooh, I never said it’ll be simple - I’ll use antique cursive!”

Crowley’s hand hovered above the page, shaking. There was so much noise, ringing, tension, and vibration that it took him a couple of steady breaths to grip the pen and push it towards the paper. At that very moment, his corporation could have generated enough power from the tremors to make his uvula a 60W fridge lightbulb. Of course, that would work only if Hell’s engineers figured out where to stick the right wires.

He looked down at the empty page and clenched his teeth. His hand shook harder as he willed it towards the paper, but it did not relent. A droplet of sweat fell into his eye as he pushed harder, but the muscles of his human body tensed and shook with exertion, making no downward progress. Somewhere from the room came a humourless chuckle and a shuffle of clothes. Crowley growled in response, and then there was a gentle, if slightly clammy, hand on his shoulder.

“Is everything alright, lo- ehm, Crowley?”

Crowley bared his teeth and met eyes with the woman sitting across from him, one leg crossed over the other and her chin resting in her palm, sporting an unamused scowl. He lifted slightly and then slammed his hand down again, but the book remained unmarked.

“I cannot put my hand down,” came out in a dragged-out hiss, “I- I cannot write into this bloody thing!”

The hand on his shoulder squeezed slightly. “Oh - Well, surely, you could not expect she would actually let you - “

The hushed voice was cut off when Crowley’s body suddenly jolted and stiffened. Then, amid an outpour of consonants, his body went slack and spun around, not unlike a puppet being microwaved. In the involuntary spin, Crowley lost grip of the book and the pen alike, helplessly watching them fall to the floor. His legs tangled under him in shapes they were not designed for, arms pretzeled themselves until finally, he clashed face-first into Aziraphale’s chest with an unceremonious oof.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale hissed and glowered down into the face squished against his pectorals, with two terrified yellow puppy eyes looking up at him. “Now is not the time nor the place to - WHOOOOOOOAA!”

In a strike of unseen power, Aziraphale’s arms swung on their own and grasped Crowley, pushing him into an even tighter embrace. Crowley’s eyes were so big they were almost ready to pop out of his head, and if even a drop of moisture was to drip onto his hot-plate-red face, it would vaporise immediately. It was also a great opportunity to be thankful for not having to breathe.

Then, pulled by the nape of his neck, Crowley got slowly squeezed upwards through Aziraphale’s tight grasp. If God remembered the creation inventory for 1892, she would have described the motion as pushing a half-empty tube of toothpaste through a chunky pasta press, but she didn’t. Crowley, with circulation in his limbs conveniently cut off, finally looked right into Aziraphale’s eyes from his usual vantage point. He could see his own alarmed face in them and tried to move to ease the tension to look cool again, but each wiggle only made the arms around him tighten. Briefly, he wondered which of them was really the serpent then.

“Now what are you two clowns playing at?” Satan huffed, trying his best not to sound terrified of the unknown power present and failing. “Is that the best you can do?”

Crowley tried to shoot him a glare, tried to move his head, but an iron grip of something invisible held him still, so he shouted into Aziraphale’s face instead.

“Oh, sod off, you didn’t disclose your plan, we won’t disclose ours!”

“Wait, so it was your plan all along?” Aziraphale whispered through pursed lips, “I can’t believe this is your idea of saving the universe!”

And just like that, the power pushed and crashed their lips together with such force that their teeth clinked together.

For a second, Crowley struggled against it, tried to push back, tried to flail his limbs, but he only managed to kick about as Aziraphale apparently pulled him off the ground. The angle was rather uncomfortable, and instead of lovers sharing an intimate moment, the two looked like they were caught in a hydraulic press accident, mouth on mouth.

“KhWwngghHHH!!” Aziraphale’s brows furrowed as he tried to fight the force in vain, “Hhhmmmmttt hww wwppppnnn??”

Crowley grunted in response, wiggling against Aziraphale’s chest. “Ffffghhhh mmmm fff eeeuuuu knnnnwwww!”

“No! I told you they will NOT kiss like this! It solves absolutely NOTHING!”

In a flash of bright light, the shop wall was torn open by a jagged white gash, through which two entities entered the room. One of them was holding an old, white leather-bound book with a burgundy symbol on, strokes of which resembled angel halo, wings and demon tail, while the other was trying to wrest the pen from his hand with the energy and poor success of an angry ground squirrel.

“‘Tis their last chance, angel! I want ‘em to kiss!” answered the entity holding the book and raised the hand holding the pen above his head, so the other man had to jump to reach it.

“I call bollocks on that!” The man stopped jumping about and straightened his mustard-coloured knitted vest, his bowtie wiggling as he did. “Absolute piffle!”

The taller, black-haired man bared a mouth full of pearly white teeth with slightly pointed fangs as his sunglasses slid down his nose, “Ha! You said bollocks!”

“You made me do it!” whined the other one and glared at the black-clad man who was barking out a laugh. “Besides, I do NOT care for this ending one bit, so as the co-author, I AM allowed to object with pejoratives!”

“What in my unholy name is going on here???”

The room went silent. Only the low hum of the still-open portal in the wall, and the boiling kettle sounds Crowley was making from where his nose was squished against Aziraphale’s cheek, remained. Satan was tapping the tip of his shoe impatiently, arms crossed over his chest. God went so far as to raise one of her perfectly plucked eyebrows. After a second of the silent staredown, the newcomers shared a look and a nod. The man bearing the book put his pen to work.

“Crowley was released from the arms of his beloved angel, feeling the sore absence of his soft lips immediately,” he murmured to himself as he scribbled the words down into the book, brows furrowed in concentration. His tongue occasionally stuck out when the hand ran slower than his mouth, “and the velvety sensation of the celestial kiss filled him with newfound hope.”

In the background, Crowley fell to his arse with a thud and a sound of wind being knocked out of him.

“Ugh, get to the point!” groaned the blonde man in the knitted vest, running fingers through his pale hair, “For dog’s sake, be less of a Byron and more of a Hemingway now!”

The tall man in the black pouted at him and continued writing, raising his nose in faux contempt. “Aziraphale gently helped Crowley back to his feet, handling him the way he did his most prized fine China,”

Aziraphale whooped behind them in falsetto as the invisible force shifted and broke him in half, backwards, like a giant glowstick. Arms flailing about, he immediately sprang forward and almost knocked Crowley out when their foreheads met, the contact sound not dissimilar to two coconuts colliding on a Saturday evening. Then, his arms torpedoed into Crowley’s armpits, making the latter squeal, and swiftly hoisted him to his feet, accompanied by angry crunching of Aziraphale’s vertebrae. Once upright, both of them trembled, shooting alarmed glances at the two strangely familiar men.

“trying to convey with his loving gaze how much Crowley meant to him, how much he loved him, how he constituted the center of his universe - universe Aziraphale was ready to save at the highest cost only to be rewarded by a couple more seconds inhabiting it, despite neither finding words nor courage to utter so,”

Aziraphale turned bright red as the force squished their cheeks, forcing them to face each other in an unexpected fish shape. One of his eyes started twitching as beads of sweat dropped into it, colouring it the same angry colour as the rest of his face. He parted his lips to say something, but instead squeaked in frequency only perceivable to dogs and bats. Clearly embarrassed, he shut his mouth again, trying to look anywhere but Crowley’s face.

“Oh, good lord!” The blonde man groaned and, in a lightning-fast pounce, wrestled the book and the pen out of his counterpart’s hands. He cleared his throat, opened the book again and began writing.

“Crowley, regaining his strength, picked up the new Book of Life.”

Crowley violently spun around and promptly dropped to the floor in a fashion of ragdolls and octopi, grabbing the book and Aziraphale’s pen.

The blonde glared at the two other beings in the background and pushed the thin golden rim of his glasses back up his nose before turning his attention to the book in his hand.

“He opened the book and wrote down a short list.”

Crowley’s hand trembled as it was firmly pushed onto the paper.

“God,”

The woman sprang up from the armchair, finally letting an ounce of alarm taint her perfect features, mouth open and brows furrowed, as the sound of two pens gliding on paper collided,

“Satan,”

The man in question bared his teeth and snapped his fingers, only for a bunch of rainbow-coloured butterflies to appear, flapping around his head before they disappeared in a poof of glitter. It caught onto his bushy eyebrows and sweat-drenched forehead, rendering him a very angry disco ball.

The blonde smiled at him, saccharine in a way that would give a common mortal type 100 diabetes.

“Oh dear, what is the matter? Your miracles are not working?”

“You son of a…”

“ENOUGH!”

God’s voice reverberated through the confined space of the bookshop, and somewhere outside, a cacophony of car alarms started to wail. Aziraphale and Crowley gasped in unison.

“EXPLAIN YOUR PRESENCE AT ONCE BEFORE I REMOVE YOU FOREVER!”

The blonde merely raised a bored eyebrow at her.

“Crowley, why did we even make her appear after 6000 years of silence? Does she have any meaningful lines besides berating, belittling and pointlessly intimidating?”

The man in question shrugged, hands deep in his pockets. “Dunno, important plot point, I ‘spose? Boom, Bam, Bob's your uncle.”

The blonde smirked. “You fiend, you wanted to see them both crossed out again, didn’t you?”

“Ngk, you are not making progress, angel. What was the point of taking the book from me if you won’t do anything with it?”

The blonde stuck out his tongue at him as he grinned and put the pen to the paper again. “Shush, I’m getting there! There’s no rushing the genius, darling!”

“Tsk,” retorted the demon, leaning against one of the columns, trying hard to look sulking, “Hemingway my arse!”

Crowley’s hand shook violently as the invisible power pushed it to write Heaven and Hell onto the list. Then it hovered above the page before slowly, meticulously crossing out each of them. When the last of the ink dripped from the pen, the room stilled, holding its breath. Through a ripple, the space became the surface of a lake before a summer storm, silent, calm, and terribly apprehensive.

God and Satan looked back at the two couples, drawing breaths that were deeper than necessary for beings that supposedly knew everything and feared nothing.

Aziraphale and Crowley looked into each other’s eyes, petrified.

The blonde man smiled while the yellow-eyed man watched over the rim of his sunglasses with a barely concealed smirk.

Nothing happened.

Nothing changed.

God snapped her fingers.

From somewhere in the shop garden, a nightingale broke the perfect silence and started to sing. All eyes were on the little brown bird as it flew inside, following an undulating trajectory. It flapped its delicate wings as it circled God and Satan, singing at the top of its lungs. Then, flying too close for a blink of an eye, the bird lightly tapped Satan’s glittery scalp. Satan’s hand sprung to grip God’s. She shot him an alarmed, wide-eyed look.

With a scream, both God and Satan exploded in a heap of golden dust that filled the bookshop through a powerful shockwave before it gently fell and stuck to any available surface. It shimmered for a split moment before dimming and disappearing from sight, like soot flying from a bonfire. Briefly, Aziraphale thought about how many hours of dusting it would take to restore the shop to its pristine condition without any miracles and whimpered at the result. From outside the shop windows, the typical Soho commotion of hurried footsteps, laughter, and the ringing of bells above shop doors soaked in, carried on the gentle rays of the evening sun and the smell of freshly roasted coffee. The whole shop finally breathed out.

With a simple scribble of the pen, the force that held Aziraphale and Crowley against their will disappeared, and they both faltered as it loosened its grip. Crowley straightened his back and winced at the sudden influx of aches in bones and muscles he had no idea his corporation had. Next to him, Aziraphale shook, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. After raising a quizzical eyebrow at the pair of strangers, Crowley couldn’t help but turn around and carefully pat Aziraphale’s shoulder - he gave him a shaky thumbs up but made no effort to rise to his full height. Crowley’s hand stayed where it was, just in case the angel needed something moderately softer than the floor to fall onto.

“So…” Crowley gulped, turning his attention back to the strangers, “‘spose we should say thank you?”

The blonde grinned, turned to the man in black and whispered something into his ear. The lanky man’s sunglasses nearly fell off as his yellow eyes widened in shock. He looked Crowley in the eyes before snapping back towards the blonde.

“Come on, don’t give them this version, you know we wrote that for the Vampire universe!”

“We have already been to the Vampire universe, and you insisted we give them the gentle scenario!” huffed the blonde, arms crossed on his chest.

The demon attempted to seize the book, but the blonde pulled it back against his chest. “Then let’s write another one! Come on, look at them! They look like a pair of wet dogs!”

“Let’s give them the lycan scene, then,” the blonde said as he tried to pry the book back from the demon’s hands, "Werewolves are just bigger dogs anyway!”

The demon pulled with greater force, usurping the book for himself. “Right, just like centaurs are just horses with attitude!”

“So what if I did enjoy watching them bicker-neigh?” the angel harrumphed, moving the pen away from the demon’s grasping hand,

“Must I remind you that YOU wrote the extremely explicit scene with all the giant penises and fluorescent body fluids?” The demon growled, snapping at the pen in vain. The angel looked utterly unimpressed. “And the male pregnancy? Where exactly in your iceberg structure of novel writing does that fall into?”

“The uncharted bottom, I believe.” The angel, in a sleight of hand, made the pen disappear. “Where only the boldest authors and true connoisseurs dare to explore.”

“You made me the male sea horse in the fish universe!” the demon howled, voice an octave higher with exasperation, “The poor thing squirted out babies, while the fish you gobbled up shrimp!”

“Now that was uncalled for!” the blonde pouted, “He was being a supportive husband by bringing enough sustenance for his pregnant mate! It was not his fault that he got caught up in a current jam!”

“HE was a horny glutton!” the demon pointed an accusing finger at the angel, who threw his hands up with a groan. “What I mean is you OWE me one fluffy, teeth-rotting final scene with human-like characters that are NOT being narrated by David Attenborough while going at it!”

“Alright, alright!” the angel pouted for a second before he let a small grin bloom on his face. He batted his lashes at the demon, handing him the pen that magically appeared behind the demon’s ear, “I cannot say no to my cute, lovely, hopeless romantic husband. But! Promise to let me write the dialogues, will you, love?”

The demon raised both eyebrows at the angel. The culprit giggled, snatched the demon’s sunglasses and planted a loud kiss on his cheek. The man sighed, harrumphed something that could be interpreted as "right," and opened the book in his hand. Grabbing the pen, he found the page where they left off and, winking at Crowley, started to write with a conspiring smile, filling the shop with the sound of metal scraping against paper.

Crowley, for the first time in millennia, breathed out, and with that breath, every ounce of anxiety seeped out of his body. Somewhere behind his closed eyes was a seed of a thought, and that thought sprouted through his whole body in refreshing vines with a triumphant realisation. When Crowley opened his eyes, he allowed himself to feel giddy about drawing another breath, about being able to wiggle his toes and crack his knuckles in a proper stretch. The Earth was still spinning, the sun was still shining, people were still laughing, and nightingales still sang.

When he turned to look at Aziraphale, he found him looking at him with starry eyes. The sun, being a romantic itself, leaned in just right to shine into the angel’s pale curls, lighting up the outline of his soft face with a halo, and embraced the plump curves of his body. Crowley’s breath hitched when Aziraphale’s cheeks bloomed a hint of pink as he gave him a shy, private smile. He felt his own face attempt the brightest grin he could muster without pulling a muscle. They made it. They were still them, living and breathing, on the wonderful, amazing Earth.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, and with a slight surprise, watched his arms rise before he looked back at his demon. He inclined his head and smiled in a silent plea.

Crowley, partly of his own accord, partly nudged by the millennia old yearning to be close to Aziraphale, stumbled forward. He fell more than walked into his arms, and immediately melted when the angel’s arms closed up on him and held him flush against him. Aziraphale was uniquely shaped to accept his form, it seemed, and Crowley slotted right into his embrace, face planted against the angel’s neck.

Where Crowley’s body pushed with the firm point of a bone, Aziraphale’s corporation answered with pliant softness, balancing their imperfections into harmony. The serpent in him happily accepted the warmth accumulating between them from love Aziraphale was emitting and couldn’t stop smiling over the faint scent of baby powder naturally pertaining to angel wings when their bearer felt happy and loved, and would have coiled around Aziraphale if his human form had allowed it. Instead, Crowley squeezed his arms around his angel and allowed himself to be drunk on the realisation that this was their new reality.

Aziraphale held him softly but firmly, as if Crowley were something to cherish, something worth holding, and if that wasn’t something that made his eyes all stingy with happy tears. Aziraphale let his hands roam over Crowley’s back, tracing his spine and gently massaging along the way. Crowley felt himself hum as he nuzzled the soft curls with his nose and planted a chaste kiss on Aziraphale’s temple, enjoying the soft tickle of his hair. The watery giggle Aziraphale gave him made Crowley think of winter evenings spent reading, hand in hand, in front of a fireplace, with baked apples and mulled wine. Before he knew it, the crook of his neck was full of his - his! - angel’s face and warm, steady breaths he took against his chest.

As Crowley closed his eyes to savour the sensation, something began to bubble in his core. The sensation reverberated through him with growing intensity till it welled up in his throat in gentle vibration. He gripped Aziraphale and held on tight, but his corporation betrayed him and let the bodily urge win. To his own surprise and slight shame, Crowley purred in a low, velvety sound that echoed through the shop.

“You truly are a master of your craft, my dear. I had no idea demons are capable of purring!”

“Shush, I’ve always wanted to try it, alright? I’m getting there!”

Aziraphale chuckled, taking a glance at their counterparts over Crowley’s shoulder. As the man in black scribbled, brows furrowed, the embrace gradually loosened till they stood a breath apart, their fingers intertwined. Crowley watched in awe when Aziraphale’s half-lidded gaze travelled from his eyes over his nose and lips till it stopped on his chest, where Aziraphale’s breath hitched. His grip on Crowley tightened for a second before he found the courage to look back into his eyes, and they gleamed with unspoken confessions. Crowley held his breath for a beat too long when behind them, the rustle stopped and the silence was only broken by the leather sliding from one hand to another.

“Crowley, I - “

For a split second, Aziraphale looked like a deer caught in headlights. His Adam's apple bobbed before he could continue, and brought their hands to his chest.

“There are probably a thousand things I should have said much earlier than now. And it is - it is quite difficult to find the words to articulate all of them at once. But please believe me when I say I am sincerely, profoundly sorry for hurting you.”

Crowley stepped closer, a sudden urge to kiss the pained expression off his angel’s face stronger than his self-control. He planted his lips onto Aziraphale’s forehead and closed his eyes, words already clogging his system and fighting their way out.

“You did hurt me, angel,” Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hands when he heard the broken gasp, “you did hurt me alright. I won’t pretend that you becoming an archangel didn’t make me want to jump into a pool of holy water.”

“Crowley!”

Before continuing, Crowley gently cupped Aziraphale’s face and brushed his thumb over his cheek. The angel leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut.

“‘Tis fine now, isn’t it? Shh, I’m here.”

For a hot moment, Crowley just held onto Aziraphale’s shoulders and kept his eyes closed, needing as much contact as possible before going on. Aziraphale let him hold him, trembling ever so slightly from the gravity of the confession.

“Besides, I hurt you too.”

Aziraphale looked up at him with wide, surprised eyes. Crowley smiled, hoping to convey he was being honest.

“I was careless, and selfish. Part of my job description, that is, but still - I’m sorry too. I should have known you would rather try all you could to fix it than give up on the world.” He breathed in a deep, painful breath. “Even if that meant we wouldn’t see each other in centuries.”

“I could never give up on the world because…” Aziraphale’s eyes welled and his lips started to quiver, “because it is the only place where we can be… us, where we have our car, and our dinner dates, and our nightcaps and - and all the other wonderful things humanity invented. We can choose to be us on Earth. And think of all the humans! Oh, what would come of them if they were crossed out of existence for the sake of someone's twisted whimsy? Think of all the love, effort and hope lost for nothing! No, I refuse to let anyone destroy that by Second Coming or Armageddon or Holy War or any of that despicable, insensitive, nefarious nonsense!”

“Shhh,” Crowley pulled Aziraphale back into a tight embrace as he choked on a watery sobs that made his shoulders jump, “We made it, didn’t we?”

Aziraphale took a moment to relieve his body of all the accumulated anger through pearly tears. Crowley’s hands caressed him, anchoring him in the moment, and the way he gently rocked him soothed Aziraphale’s nerves. Having regained some of the strength, he shifted and pressed his lips on Crowley’s again, hungry to chase the confirmation of what Crowley was saying was true. “We, yes, we… I believe we did, darling.”

“We did it for… for that four letter word, right?”

Aziraphale laughed, fragile but mirthful. “We are allowed to say love now, I presume. There are no sides to hurt us for loving each other now after all!”

“Yeah, that’s - terrific. Crossed right out of existence.”

“By your beautiful, gentle, generous hand.”

“And your twisted, sinful, bastardly mind.”

“I - I love you, Crowley.”

“And I,” Crowley gulped, “love you, Aziraphale.”

For a long while, the two simply stood in the soft sunlight, holding each other tight. The words ran out for the moment, and the gravity of those that were already out required a momentary rest before any other joined them. Aziraphale’s hands found their way up Crowley’s back and gently rubbed between his spine and shoulder blades right where the scars from his angel wings lay, bringing the latter into a deep purr again. In answer, Crowley ran his slender fingers through Aziraphale’s hair, enjoying the softness of the curls. Aziraphale leaned into the sensation, turning his head in a way Crowley’s fingers reached the most exquisite pressure points. After a positively sinful moan, Aziraphale exhaled and pushed back, turning his attention to the two beings watching them from the other side of the room.

“The only thing I regret is that these words were put into my mouth by someone else.”

The blonde smiled at him, bright and proud. Without a word, he closed the distance and stepped in front of Aziraphale, showing him the open book. On the yellowed parchment, where their words should have laid, there was a sole sentence written in black, elegant curls: and then, after they said what they needed to say the most, they went and wrote their own story.

“So, everything we did and said just now, that was just us?” Crowley blinked, mouth agape in disbelief.

The blonde shrugged and pointed at the other book, left laying on the floor. “Quite so, dear boy. The confessions and apologies were genuine. Why do you think I insisted on writing your dialogue? If I left it in the hands of our good old Tennyson back there, you would be falling to your knees and crying rivers before saying anything substantial."

“Hey! I heard that!”

“I know you did, love!” The blonde let the self-satisfied smirk bloom on his face before continuing, his hands clasped over the white book. “Anyhow, our influence on this universe is discontinued as of now. From now on, you are in charge of your own Book of Life.”

“Does that mean we are the new God and new Satan?” Aziraphale’s voice shook with unsaid horror.

“Nope.” The man in black stepped out of the shadow and threw his arm around the blonde’s shoulders as he spoke. “No, more like - guardians?”

“Right. You crossed God, Satan, Heaven and Hell out of the book, remember?”

“And that means…”

“YOU ARE FREE!” The blonde and the man in black sang in unison, breaking into a fit of giggles and easy laughter. Crowley couldn’t help but wonder when it was his time to finally laugh so freely around Aziraphale, and if this all wasn’t too good to be true.

“But we still write in it as guardians? Doesn’t that contradict the non-existence of celestial and infernal powers? What is the cost of being guardians anyway?”

Aziraphale kept his composure, back to his celestial supreme power straight back and pursed lips. Crowley fought an urge to kiss him senseless.

“Ah, angel, he really is quite like you, isn’t he?” the man in black smiled fondly, “always looking both ways before crossing the road! Nah, it’s quite simple, beige boy…”

“... You are not allowed to carry out major miracles. No resurrections and such serious business. Overall, it is advisable to only use miracles in cases of emergency. And all you have to do is to watch over this book. That’s it. No meddling with free will, no influencing, no tempting. You may write down small things, like, uh, like… I suppose nightingales or fixing your car up. Anything that changes your lives only is fine to write down. Otherwise, you stay neutral and keep this key to life safe forever.”

“Safe from whom? I mean - there are no evil powers, right? And humans are not aware of the Book of Life so they shouldn’t be a problem either, should they?” Crowley chimed in.

The blonde and the man in black exchanged quizzical looks before turning back to Crowley and Aziraphale, apparently short for words. The man in black scratched at the back of his head nervously.

“Uhhhh…. Well, to be frank with you lads, we didn’t quite, erm, think that through that far ahead.”

“I KNEW there would be a plot hole if I let you edit the story!”

“Oi! I did not write the questions, you let them ask freely! Kindly leave me out of this, your principality!”

“I suppose it is a risk we should have accounted for when giving them freedom from our authority.”

“Hmph! Right!”

The blonde sighed, and turned the page in their own book, eager to change the topic.

“Oh, look, Crowley! The next universe to fix is quite an exciting one!”

Both demons leaned in before the redhead blinked and stepped back to stay next to his Aziraphale. The other Crowley skimmed the page and blushed, his arms folding on his chest.

“Nyaa, not likely. Nah.”

The other Aziraphale grinned in a suspiciously pointy way. “Come come, darling, I long to slip into one of my famous disguises!”

“Hng, fine, but I refuse to wear contact lenses for this. I can’t see shit in them.”

The blonde tutted and patted his shoulder, stepping back towards the shimmering portal.

“Then it’ll make you immensely happy you won’t be looking at shit.”

“HEY!”

The two men stopped right in front of the gash in the wall and turned back to look at Aziraphale who suddenly looked a bit terrified.

“What are we supposed to do now? You hardly answered any questions at all!”

“Figure it out!” The blonde called back, before snapping his fingers. The mustard vest turned liquid and danced around his torso till it settled back in a generously volumed, pitch black frilly shirt with a fire-cut cravat and blood red leather bodice. His hair raced down around his cheeks and shoulders, turning into a shiny curtain of platinum ash, along with the meticulously kept beard. The sneakers twitched and popped into platform stiletto high heels, making his legs suspiciously sculpted under his fishnet stockings and black kilt.

“You’ve got this, lads!” Shouted the demon, having transformed his outfit alongside the angel. He sported a cream, relaxed overall with a deep v-cut that opened almost as far as his belly button if it wasn’t cut off by a wide belt and covered by layered pearl necklace. He ran his hand through his hair and it slicked back against his scalp in an elegant wave that glittered gold when he moved. The only thing that gave away his demonic nature were tattoos of golden snakes slithering through the lush canopy of blooming flowers, covering him from neck to toe, and his deep blue lipstick.

They turned towards each other, and the other Crowley whistled. The other Aziraphale grinned back at him, baring a set of pointy shark teeth. Without another word, he grasped his partner’s hand and stepped into the portal which buzzed and vibrated from the contact, emitting light that grew brighter and brighter each second the entities spent inside. Just before it swallowed them both, they turned around and waved at Crowley and Aziraphale, and with a loud zap and a flash of light, they were gone.

The shop was back to its quaint, warm self. For a long while, as it was getting darker outside and the commotion in the streets was replaced by far-off music, neither Crowley nor Aziraphale moved. Their hands found each other out of their own volition, and pushed their palms together while they both were waiting for something, anything, that would break the hope building in them.

When the sunlight was replaced by colourful lights of shop signs and flecks of headlights running down the walls, it was Crowley who dared to breathe out first and stretch out, sorely missing Aziraphale’s cosy armchair. His grunts seemed to awake Aziraphale from his slump who, blinking away the dryness in his eyes, started fussing with the blinds and finding the right light switches.

“Heh”

“What?”

“Nothin’” Crowley grinned from where he was splayed in the armchair, his fangs shining.

“I know this grin, my dear, and it definitely does not signify nothing,” Aziraphale folded arms on his chest. “Chop chop, out with it!”

“Nya, it’s just- you are not using miracles to draw the blinds now? Really?”

“May I remind you we were told not to use frivolous miracles? I think this hardly constitutes an emergency when I can quite easily - uh,” Aziraphale tried to grab a string of one of the blinds and failed miserably, falling face first into a pile of books.

“Oh come on, angel,” Crowley drew his hand up and snapped his fingers. The blinds that were only drawn half-way down were now perfectly aligned with the windows underneath, and the whole bookshop was lit by soft flickering flames of hundreds of candles. From the back of the shop, the old gramophone coughed and put on a collection of oldie love songs, filling the evening with soft, sleepy melodies. On the table in front of Crowley appeared two perfectly cooled cocktail glasses, perspiration running down the fine, sharp cuts. He gave Aziraphale another cheeky grin and sat upright, gripping his cocktail and winking at him. “Live a little!”

“Very well,” Aziraphale sighed, and some deeply rooted habit pushed him to straighten out his waistcoat. He closed the distance between them and plopped himself onto the sofa, snatching the other glass from the table. He raised it and without waiting for Crowley, he took a swig of the cream coloured cocktail, only to feel his eyes flutter shut in delight. And if he moaned a little from the delightful sweetness, Crowley was safe to hear it.

“Ah, remind me, since when are we drinking Pina Coladas, my dear?”

Crowley smiled and sipped on his drink, tongue cleaning a bit of cream foam off his lips. “Since we can do anything we want?”

“Is that so?”

“Ngk, there’s no keeping cool now, huh?” the ice in Crowley’s glass sloshed around, “I can drink fruity little nonsense. You can drink whiskey. Hell, we could drink motor oil and no one would care! We’re free!”

Aziraphale gave the words a moment of consideration, and then set the glass down, took the pineapple wedge off the rim and started nibbling on it. While Dean Martin in the background poured his heart into proclaiming that everybody loves somebody, Aziraphale slurped the juice and bit off the delicious chunks of the fruit, not having a care in the world who sees or hears. It was new, and intoxicating, and Aziraphale soon found his appetite for freedom was building by the minute through the sticky juice trickling down his chin and fingers. Crowley, despite rarely feeling the need to eat, felt a growl of a ravenous beast within himself.

“Here, have mine too if you’d like,” he offered his own pineapple to Aziraphale, sounding choked and not as unaffected as he would have wanted. Aziraphale, without questioning it, grabbed and gobbled the wedge up, licking his fingers clean in long, languid strokes. Crowley choked down a whimper and sipped on his drink as he shifted in the armchair.

“Thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale smiled and hesitated for a second before snapping his fingers, miracling himself clean of sticky sweetness. “The cocktail is quite lovely.”

Crowley looked at him with a wolfish grin and raised his glass, bottoming it at once. As he smashed the glass back on the table, it miraculously filled right back. “Wahoo, that’s more like it, sweet cheeks! Don’t hold back!”

“Sweet cheeks?”

“Oh angel, I have so many ideas on what to call you!” Crowley kicked his feet over the armrest and planted himself against the headrest, taking a generous swig of his drink. “My apple pie, my pumpkin spice latte, my ladybug, my only white feather, my stardust fairy, ink to my pen, song to my ears and star light to my night, my Polaris, my …”

Crowley trailed off for a moment, exhaling as his face grew serious again. The cocktail rested on his belly and he gripped it tighter as he looked back at Aziraphale, mouth opening and closing a couple of times before he could get the words out, deep and silent.

“My Aziraphale.”

The pulse of pure, undiluted love cut through the air and hit Aziraphale right into the chest, a blow so gentle yet so palpable he had to put a lot of effort into breathing in. He blinked before he allowed himself to succumb to an idea that popped up in his head, giddy from the fact that for the first time in forever, he did not have to suppress it.. He looked back into Crowley’s eyes, those honey golden eyes with flames dancing in them, and felt himself move, closing their distance and leaning over Crowley to taste his lips once more.

Crowley moaned as their lips met and turned his head eagerly just so Aziraphale could deepen their kiss, and taste the cream and pineapple on his tongue. He threw his hands over Aziraphale’s shoulders and craned closer, hungry for the heat of his angel’s embrace.

“Up. Now.” Aziraphale breathed between heated kisses and moments of chasing Crowley’s lips. He pulled Crowley from the armchair with ease, as if he was lifting a mere pile of books and not a whole grown demon. The next thing Crowley knew was that they fell back onto the sofa, and that he was straddling an angel who kissed, licked and nibbled his way down his neck and into the opening of his shirt. When he tried fumbling with buttons of Crowley’s shirt and couldn’t open it, Aziraphale grabbed both sides and tore it open with a groan, and immediately rushed his hands to Crowley’s back, pushing his demon closer to his lips.

“Damn, Aziraphale,” Crowley breathed out, fingers grabbing handfuls of angelic curls, “what’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing yet. Let’s just say,” Aziraphale circled one of Crowley’s nipples, drawing a breathy moan out of him, “you are not the only one with ideas, my dearest.”

Crowley laughed and dragged his butt over Aziraphale’s lap, enjoying the hiss and huff of air his angel let out while momentarily distracted. “You’re one handsome bastard, aren’t you?”

All of a sudden, there were two strong, plush hands grabbing his bottom and pushing him back down, right onto the delicious hardness of his lover, and Crowley’s eyes fluttered shut with all the stars it lit up in the back of his mind. Aziraphale’s lips were back on his neck, biting and nibbling along as he was rutting up against Crowley, who pushed back as hard as he could, answering with as much effort as his aroused body allowed.

Hungry for those soft lips, Crowley cupped the angel’s face in his hands and brought them to his, opening his mouth hungrily and without restraint. As he devoured Aziraphale and lapped up the taste of him, he let his hands roam and tug on the bowtie, undo the buttons of his waistcoat and finally, triumphally, undo each button on his shirt, all while still grinding on Aziraphale’s lap. Only then he broke the kiss and looked down at the absolute painting of a man underneath with a prideful smile.

Aziraphale’s eyes were looking back at him, half-lidded and dark with want, and his breasts were heaving with each breath - soft, peppered with light blonde hair, and flush bright pink. Crowley purred and let his fingertips roam down the expanse of uncovered skin, relishing in light goosebumps left in their wake. He sat back and leaned in to kiss Aziraphale’s neck, hands running down over the soft belly and then under his back, making him bridge his back and lean closer to Crowley’s ministrations. He only stopped when he felt Aziraphale’s hand cupping his cheek, gently bringing his attention back to his angel.

“What do you want, love?” Aziraphale breathed out, hair tussled and lips pink. “How can I make you happy?”

He looked down at him with such a mixture of love and hunger Crowley couldn’t help but sport a self-satisfied grin. Instead of answering immediately, he drew one more gentle kiss from Aziraphale before putting some more distance between them, one hand on Aziraphale’s heart and one on the buckle of his belt.

“If I said I want you inside me, would it make you happy too?”

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale’s breath caught as his hand took Crowley’s and he brought it to his lips, kissing where their fingers intertwined, never breaking eye contact. “I’d love that!”

Crowley smiled down at him, and found his other hand too, pulling them both above Aziraphale’s head and kissed him, slowly and sweetly, just to drag out the moment before indulging in his angel. Momentarily letting go, Crowley snapped his fingers and breathed out from the rush of air over his naked body, and the feeling of skin underneath. Aziraphale whimpered into the kiss when Crowley rocked his hips and their efforts touched, stiff and aching for contact.

Crowley broke the kiss again and snapped his fingers again, suddenly aware of how slick and open he was, how sorely he wanted to be filled and completely devoured by his angel, and anchored himself on Aziraphale’s shoulders. Aziraphale held his hips and planted little kisses over Crowley’s chest as he was positioning himself over angel’s lap.

“Ready?” Crowley breathed out, grabbing Aziraphale’s effort and giving it a gentle tug.

“I was born ready, darling,” Aziraphale grinned and winked at Crowley.

The moment Aziraphale opened him up and slid inside, Crowley’s eyes fluttered shut, back arched and a loud, high moan escaped from somewhere deep and repressed. The stretch balanced on the perfect edge of pleasant and painful, and as he slid down, Crowley took his sweet time to adjust and relax around the thickness of Aziraphale’s cock. When he dared to bat his eyes open, his angel looked up at him, undone and disheveled, with his mouth open and heaving for breath.

“Oh My… Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale whimpered, his fingers digging deeper into Crowley’s hips, “you’re - so good for me!” Crowley chuckled as Aziraphale canted his hips upwards and leaned in, embracing his angel before sliding down again.

Their rhythm gradually picked up and the sounds of slick bodies colliding filled the space between crackle of tiny flames, sweet voices of the past and groans of the springs in the sofa, creaking under the frantic pace of lovemaking meant to undo thousands of years of yearning. Crowley’s high pitched moans mingled with Aziraphale’s deeper exhales and groans, and both of them did not care who heard them anymore.

“Crowley, dearest,” Aziraphale whimpered into Crowley’s neck as he rode him, “I’m - oh - I’m close!”

Crowley leaned back from their embrace and cupped Aziraphale’s face. It was flushed pink, his lips quivered and his eyes looked at him as if Crowley hung the stars for him. Hell, maybe he did.

“I want all of you, give me everything,” Crowley gave him a quick peck before continuing his ride, “I love you so, so much!”

Aziraphale’s eyes rolled back and his back arched with so much power he lifted Crowley up for a moment, and screamed out his name. After a moment, he slacked back into the sofa, pulling Crowley against him, jolts of remnant pleasure making his hips thrust lazily into Crowley’s body. Crowley caught himself purring again, playing lazily with curls of Aziraphale’s hair as his lover came down from his pleasure high.

“I say,” Aziraphale heaved, licking the sweat from his lips, “why didn’t we do this ages ago?”

Crowley laughed and kissed his cheek, sliding up and off where he was mounted. “You tell me, angel. Won’t hurt to make up for the lost time, though, now that we can -”

Aziraphale chuckled and kissed him again, gently, running his hand through his hair. Crowley’s cock helplessly rutted between them upon the contact and he whimpered, reminded of his own need.

“Ah, how inconsiderate of me, my dearest,” Aziraphale tutted when he noticed the source of Crowley’s whimpers. “Would you mind if I tried something I read about?”

Crowley nodded, gulping around the sensation of Aziraphale’s fingers curled around his cock. His grip was firm but gentle, and he lazily stroked up and down, making Crowley whimper.

“You need to use your words, darling,” Aziraphale hummed, voice deep and needy. “Can I eat you up?”

Crowley laughed at the words and slid off Aziraphale’s lap only to fall onto the sofa next to him, legs wide apart. His skin was shiny with sweat and heaving from the heat of the expectation of Aziraphale’s hands and lips. “I’m all yours, sugar plum,”

Aziraphale grinned and then promptly dipped down from the sofa and kneeled between Crowley’s legs. His hands ran along the thighs and he peppered kisses onto the sensitive, freckled skin, eyes still locked with Crowley’s. He spread Crowley’s legs wider and licked the sensitive skin of his perineum, gently nibbled and kissed his way up the scrotum only to suck the base of Crowley’s cock in between his lips and draw out a needy moan out of his demon. Aziraphale hummed in satisfaction and continued his ministrations, tongue dragging up the impossibly stiff length of Crowley’s cock.

“Aziraphale, please,” Crowley breathed out, and pushed his hand into Aziraphale’s hair, “more!”

When Aziraphale parted his lips and sucked Crowley into his mouth, Crowley’s head fell back into the sofa, and the groan vibrated the air around them. Aziraphale was still watching him, bobbing his head up and down in slow, deliberate strokes, making sure to adjust suction and friction just right to keep Crowley right on the edge. His tongue circled the head before he dipped back down, and swallowed more of Crowley with each dip. The hand in his hair pulled and pushed in time with his movement and Aziraphale found himself falling deeper in love with the taste of Crowley, with the little sounds he made and with the way his body rose to meet him.

“Oh - oh love, I’m - “ Crowley whimpered, canting his hips upwards into Aziraphale’s mouth, “can I - can I cum inside?”

Aziraphale curled his hands over Crowley’s thighs and hummed, keeping the rapid pace Crowley set with his thrusts, using his tongue as much as he could to push Crowley over the edge, just like Crowley pushed him. He looked into his face, the way it crumbled under the unbearable ecstasy, how his eyes closed and his brows knotted and suddenly his mouth fell open and he was spilling into Aziraphale’s mouth, hot and bitter and so, so lovely.

Aziraphale kept his mouth on Crowley’s cock till the latter patted his shoulder and smiled down on him, all toothy and breathy. He let go with a wet pop and licked his lip, chasing the remnants of Crowley’s taste. He slowly pushed upwards and pulled Crowley into a languid, exhausted kiss.

“Damn, angel, I had no idea - “ Crowley breathed out in between kisses, trying his best not to let on how amused he was, “you read that kind of books!”

Aziraphale chuckled, running a thumb over Crowley’s jaw, enjoying the weight of Crowley’s forehead on his. “And I have so many more I could write down into the Book of Life for us, dearest.”

Crowley laughed and pulled Aziraphale up onto the sofa next to him, planting his head onto his angel’s shoulder and closing his eyes with a satisfied huff.

“Care to give me an example?”

“Well,” Aziraphale grabbed his drink and took a swig, taking his time to answer, “I quite liked your Nanny Ashtoreth, and happen to have a couple of things I would like her to do to me.”

Crowley shot up from his cozy spot and partly grinned, partly gaped at Aziraphale, who sipped his cocktail, giving Crowley a seemingly unaffected side eye.

“Alright, now who’s going too fast for whom?” Crowley grabbed his cocktail too and clinked it with Aziraphale’s, taking a huge gulp out of it. “But first, I’d love a shower and a teeny tiny nap.”

Aziraphale smiled at him, one of the smiles that reached his eyes, and patted his thigh, squeezing gently.

“Let’s go have some, dearest. Oh, and just so you know, I love you too.”

#good omens fanfiction #aziracrow #book omens #ineffable lovers #fix it au #fluff and humor #smut #bickering #idiots in love #cannon divergence #good omens

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