"... and if the clouds are gathering, it's just to point the way / to an afternoon I spent with you when it rained all day"
Lads, is it gay to share an umbrella with your ex-hereditary-enemy? Here's my version of the Good Omens S2 promo poster! Watercolour and dip ink pen on hot press paper, lyrics are from the song '1 John 4:16' by The Mountain Goats
This is my winter song to you.
The storm is coming soon
It rolls in from the sea.
My love a beacon in the night.
My words will be your light
To carry you to me.
something a little more somber to close out the year, because its been a rough one, but this is also one of my favorite winter songs and i wanted to do something good omens with it
Aziraphale had never been to Crowley’s flat. Now that the angel stood at the threshold, he realized that he had never been welcomed into any of Crowley’s abodes over the years. It was always drinking at the bookshop or smuggling wine from a monastery, never quiet evenings in the demon’s home. Watching Crowley fiddle with the unnecessary keys to the flat, Aziraphale shook his head to clear it of phrases such as “demon’s lair” and “snake pit”.
“Bathroom’s down the hall if you need to wash up,” Crowley muttered as he shouldered the door open. “Can I get you anything?”
Aziraphale stepped cautiously through the doorway, glancing around instinctively. He was so used to avoiding the obstacles of his bookshop that the sparse decorating left him feeling strangely on edge. There was a statue, an angel and a demon it looked like, sitting on a pedestal. They seemed to be in conflict, the demon overcoming the angel as the angel strained against the demon’s might.
“Angel?”
Or perhaps thought Aziraphale distantly, they’re not in conflict at all. Maybe the demon is holding him down so he doesn’t topple off the edge.
“Aziraphale?”
Was the angel about to fall, or was he trying to jump?
“I’m making you some tea.” Aziraphale felt the press of Crowley’s hand between his shoulder blades, gently steering him towards the sitting room.
Crowley nodded, only turning from the room once he saw Aziraphale sitting comfortably on the couch.
Come meet my eyes one moment more
Our eyes are different than before
This night, so beautiful and strange
This night begins to change who we are
“You have a lovely home,” Aziraphale offered.
There was a snort from the kitchen. “You hate it, don’t you?”
“No, no I didn’t say that. It’s very…spacious.”
“Ah, very high praise that is,” Crowley’s teasing voice carried into the sitting room. “That should get me a spot in ‘Spacious Flats Monthly’”.
Aziraphale huffed. “I’m sorry my dear, really it’s lovely I’m just used to a bit more substance is all.”
The thunk of a mug on the counter. “That’s funny, I always thought it was called clutter.”
“It is not clutter, they are very important and cherished literary works. Just because you can’t figure out my organizational system doesn’t mean I don’t have one. I’ll show it to you next time you-”
Aziraphale stopped mid-rant. The scuff of Crowley’s shoes in the kitchen had stopped, the only sound remaining being the rising whine of the kettle. A soft click, the burner, and Aziraphale swallowed.
“Ah,” his voice wavered. “I suppose it doesn’t much matter now does it.”
Don’t turn away, it’s only love
Quietly coming to you
Whispering through you
Crowley was sitting beside him on the couch, a mug of Earl Grey pressed between Aziraphale’s palms. The demon eyed the beverage, wary of tremors on its surface. Aziraphale had been near silent since their previous conversation, only offering a polite “thank you” for the tea. His gaze remained on the far wall, his body far too still.
“Adam seemed like a good kid,” Crowley offered. Aziraphale gave a small hum in reply.
“You were right,” Crowley continued. “It’s probably for the best that we weren’t involved. Who knows what would have happened today if we had been.”
Crowley watched Aziraphale’s fingers tighten around the mug minutely. The demon sighed and sank further into the cushions.
“Of course, we were there anyway. And now we get to pay the price for it.”
Aziraphale hummed again, slowly lowering the mug into his lap.
Crowley rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Aziraphale’s gaze remained distant, but his head had tilted slightly towards his friend.
“For all of this, I mean…” Crowley sucked in a breath. “The…the bookshop, for the thing with Heaven, for being here, and you’re going to have to go to bloody Hell tomorrow –”
“Crowley.” The angel faced him fully now. “Those things aren’t your fault.”
“I know, I know the bookshop was just an accident, but I’m still sorry about it.”
A crease formed between the angel’s brows as he set his mug on the coffee table. “Not just the bookshop, Crowley. None of this is your fault.”
Crowley’s head rolled along the back of the couch to face the angel’s worried eyes. “Well, it was all just a domino effect of stopping the Apocalypse. And whose idea was that?”
“Yours,” Aziraphale said firmly. “And it was the right thing to do, no matter the consequence.”
“Aziraphale-”
“Yes, my bookshop is…gone. And yes, I am very upset about that, I won’t lie to you and say I’m not. But Crowley, it could have been so much more. It could have been the world, it could have been those children at the airbase. It could have been – ”
Aziraphale’s breath hitched, his eyes suddenly glassy. “Crowley, it could have been you.”
Take my hand, it’s only love
Let it come through you slowly
Don’t be afraid, it’s only love
Crowley’s lips parted as he watched the first tear spill from the angel’s eyes. Aziraphale did not break his gaze, ocean eyes meeting onyx glass.
“Yes, I defied Heaven, I could never have joined their cause in good conscious, you only gave me the courage to see my severance through. And yes, I will be walking into Hell tomorrow, but don’t think for a second that I would rather you go in my stead.”
Aziraphale’s lip had begun to wobble, his voice following suit. “I’m terrified for you in Heaven. You have been forever offering me choices that you no longer have. I always had the chance to beg for Her forgiveness, to – to pass you off as some temptation, to fall if necessary. But you…your next step was destruction. I tried so hard to keep you from that, but you still came back to me anyway and I-”
“Aziraphale hey,” Crowley whispered, hands reaching towards where the angel’s were tangled together with white knuckles. “I know, it’s okay.”
“I was so cruel to you –”
“Nah, you’re an angel remember?”
Aziraphale sniffed. “I think we’ve both learned how little that means today.”
Crowley wedged his thumbs between the heels of Aziraphale’s hands, gently prying them apart to hold each within his own.
“It means something when it’s you,” Crowley murmured. “I don’t call those other buggers in Heaven ‘Angel’ do I?”
Aziraphale swallowed. “You don’t talk to them at all.”
“You’re right, I don’t,” Crowley agreed nodding. The angel’s fingers were curled tightly around Crowley’s, nails pressing crescent moons into his palms.
“I heard this rumor you see,” Crowley spoke, hushed. “That angels were these beings of good. Disgustingly kind-hearted and always seeing people as better than they are. As far as that definition goes, you’re more of an angel than anybody else I’ve ever met.”
Aziraphale offered a small smile. “I’ve heard demons were beings of torment, meant to destroy all things good and wonderful.”
“Yeah well,” Crowley’s lips turned up slightly. “I’ve heard those things mean so little today.”
We touch, the dark begins to stir
We can’t go back to where we were
Don’t be afraid to make it real
Don’t be afraid to feel tonight
Aziraphale loosened his grip, Crowley releasing his hands to allow the angel to wipe away his tears.
“I’m being quite silly, aren’t I?” Aziraphale said with a self-conscious chuckle.
“No sillier than usual.” That earned Crowley a slight smile and a huff of frustrated mirth.
“We’ve got it all figured out and I’m sitting here sniveling as if it’s all gone wrong already.” Aziraphale finished dabbing at his eyes and began to fidget with his tie and waistcoat.
Crowley nodded. “That’s right. Agnes has us all sorted. And after it’s all over, we can go out somewhere. Anywhere you like, my treat.”
Aziraphale pouted. “Absolutely not. You’ve done so much already I could hardly put you out again.” The angel’s eyes widened suddenly, hands stilling in their task.
“Oh my dear,” Aziraphale gasped. “You’ve done so much today you must be exhausted!”
“I’m okay. Besides, I was making tea –”
“No, Crowley, this time you’re putting your needs first.” Aziraphale rose from the couch, grabbing the now tepid cup of tea and bustling towards the kitchen. “I’ll straighten up out here, you go clean yourself off.”
Crowley watched as the angel disappeared behind the kitchen doorframe. He could hear the gurgling of tea running down the drain followed by the rush of water from the faucet. He focused on the racing water, trying to drown out the pulsing in his ears.
I should probably get up, Crowley thought to himself as his feet refused to move. Aziraphale is just in the other room, so I should wash up while he’s busy. Aziraphale is just in the other room to give me some space to wash up and he’s just in the other room so I can go clean the soot off and he’s just in the other room -
“Crowley?” Aziraphale was no longer in the other room.
The angel stood in the doorway between sitting room and kitchen giving Crowley a concerned look.
“I thought I lost you too.” The words scraped Crowley’s throat raw.
Aziraphale’s face fell. “Yes, I know. I truly said some awful things to you, I’m so sorry that they hurt you so.”
“No,” Crowley shook his head. “I thought I lost you.”
“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed, fingers rising to his lips. “Oh, you thought…you were talking about the fire, weren’t you?”
Crowley nodded, afraid that any words he tried to form at the moment would morph into a sob. Aziraphale moved quickly towards the couch, dropping to his knees and clasping Crowley’s hands just as the demon had done for him.
“I’m so sorry Crowley. All this time I had thought you were talking about our fight I didn’t realize…I’m here now, dear. I’m here in your home, I’m safe with you. You’re safe here Crowley.”
Crowley shook his head. “M’safest in the bookshop.”
Aziraphale ran his thumbs over the demon’s knuckles. “Yes, yes I figured as much. All of these years I tried to keep you safe by turning you away, when all this time you’ve been trying to show me that we really are best together.”
“It’s okay,” Crowley swallowed. “It all worked out, didn’t it?”
“In our usual bumbling manner,” Aziraphale smiled gently. “Fashionably late as you’d say.”
Crowley let out a wet snort. “Some of us are fashionable anyway.”
Aziraphale hummed. “I’d hardly call your current state fashionable, dear. We have a big day tomorrow, go wash up and get some rest, you certainly need it.”
Aziraphale released Crowley’s hands, but the demon made no move to get up.
“Crowley?” the angel questioned. “You’re not injured at all, are you? Do you need help getting to the bathroom?”
“No, no I’m alright I just…” Crowley slowly removed his glasses, twisting the earpiece between his fingers.
“What can I do for you?” Aziraphale asked gently.
Golden eyes rose to meet the angel’s gaze. Aziraphale had read an article once describing how insects could remain trapped in amber for thousands of years past their death. These creatures, meant to have perished, had been preserved despite the everchanging world around them. Crowley’s eyes were like that sometimes. Within these depths of amber, there lay hope and kindness that should have long since been destroyed with his Grace. But Crowley had maintained these parts of himself, only allowing these rare moments of affection to emerge in trusted company.
“I thought I lost you,” Crowley replied, eyes bright.
Aziraphale carefully removed the glasses from Crowley’s grip. “Then I shan’t leave you again.” It was an impossible promise, one they both knew must be broken in the morning. But in that moment, they could believe that it was true, because they both knew that it was meant.
“Come now,” Aziraphale murmured, rising from the floor to hold out his hand once again to his friend. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Don’t turn away, it’s only love
Only a touch that frees you
Let it release you
Aziraphale sat on the toilet cover, Crowley leaning against the shower door, waiting for the water to warm. Crowley had disrobed, albeit slightly abashedly. There was no embarrassment regarding their bodies, it was all flesh and skin arranged to contain something greater, but there was a strange intimacy in exposing unmarred skin against the soot and grime that covered his clothes. It felt like peeling back a shell to expose a soft underbelly, like shedding skin.
“I’m surprised you don’t own a bath,” Aziraphale said, glancing about the cramped space.
Crowley shrugged. “Not really one for sitting still am I?”
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “You slept for almost a century.”
“Mneeeeh yeah but, my brain was shut off so it wasn’t a problem.” Crowley slid the shower door open enough to stretch his hand into the stream. He pulled his hand out, flicking the lukewarm water on the bathroom’s floor, much to Aziraphale’s chagrin.
Crowley turned towards his friend. “Seems like something you would like though. Lounging about in a warm bath with bubbles and a rubber duck. A book to read, a glass of wine, some chocolates perhaps?”
Aziraphale offered a small smile. “Oh no, I never considered that. A smidge to hard to explain that to Head Office if they happened to drop by.”
“It’d probably do you some good,” Crowley mused, reaching his hand back into the water. “Second most relaxing thing to a nap if you ask me.”
“Seeing as you don’t have a tub here, I suppose I’ll have to decline.”
“I’ve got the shower though,” Crowley pointed out, sliding the door open wider. “You could have a go when I’m done.”
“Oh no that’s alright,” Aziraphale replied, waving his hand in the air. “Really I would find it far more relaxing to stick to routine tonight. There’s been a few too many momentous changes today for me.”
“And what’ll that be then?” Crowley asked, stepping into the spray.
Aziraphale shifted on his seat. “A cup of hot tea, a comfortable chair, a book if you happen to have any around here.”
“I think that can be arranged,” Crowley replied. Aziraphale could hear the staccato rhythm of water striking the shower tile as Crowley shifted about.
“M’gonna leave the door open if that’s alright.”
“Oh, that’s quite alright, I don’t mind,” Aziraphale replied. “Easier for conversation anyway.” Crowley chuckled and Aziraphale heard the snap of a shampoo bottle being opened.
“So, when do you wanna try it?” Crowley asked.
“The switch?”
“Yeah. Not right now obviously, but do you wanna do it tonight or in the morning?”
“The morning I should think,” Aziraphale replied. “Today has already had a lot of –”
“Big changes, yeah.”
Take my hand, it’s only love
Let it come through you slowly
Don’t be afraid, it’s only love
Crowley peered around the shower door, white suds dripping from copper strands.
“You know what I just realized?” he asked.
“What’s that?”
“When Beelzebub came up, they didn’t have all those boils and blisters and things.”
“That’s probably for the best.”
“No I mean, ugh, hang on,” Crowley disappeared behind the door again to rinse the bubbles from his hair. Aziraphale watched the blurred mosaic of cream and scarlet behind the dimpled glass.
“That means,” Crowley elaborated, peering around the open door with a bottle of conditioner in his hands. “That when Hastur pops up, he chooses to look like that.”
Aziraphale frowned. “Well, I don’t think he can help the frog.”
“Warlock told him he smelt of poo. Hastur chose to smell of poo.”
“…and this means?”
Crowley grinned. “The point is that it’s funny. Parfum de Hastur: Poop de Toilette.”
Aziraphale winced. “I don’t think that’s the proper French.”
“Oh, you’re one to talk.”
Aziraphale rolled his eyes and the two fell into a brief silence broken only by the spatter of water.
“Aziraphale?”
“Yes dear?”
“Can I ask you to do something kind of weird?”
“Weirder than the assignment I covered for you in Copenhagen?”
“I still don’t know why I was asked to do that. And it depends on your definition of weird.”
“What is it then?”
Crowley appeared around the glass door once again. “I can’t see my back; did I get all the gross off?”
Aziraphale stood from his seat. “Turn around, let me have a look.”
Crowley turned slowly; eyes glued to his feet. He heard Aziraphale tut behind him.
“Good grief, the entire middle of your back is just one large smudge. How did it even get this way, I thought you were wearing your jacket?”
“You ever get snow in your jacket in a snowstorm?”
Aziraphale saw fragments of charred pages swirling through the air. “Ah. Point taken.”
Crowley sighed. “Alright, let me try this again. Bloody arms have too many bones in ‘em to reach back there.”
“Allow me.”
Crowley looked over his shoulder, honey gaze meeting determined blue. “I can do it, it’s no problem.”
“Nonsense,” Aziraphale admonished, peeling off his jacket. “Just pass me your soap and your loofah. I can reach it.”
“Loofah?”
The eyebrow. “Crowley.”
“…fine, here.”
Don’t close your eyes
Don’t hold it in
Reach out to me
Let it all begin
Aziraphale stood outside of the shower, jacket folded on the bathroom counter, shirtsleeves rolled up past his elbows. Crowley remained in the shower, back turned to the angel while Aziraphale’s hands ran over his skin with sudsy water.
“You’re warm,” Aziraphale noted absently.
Crowley hummed, eyelids beginning to droop. “I have the water up high.”
“Your hands are always so cold I just assumed that the rest of you was as well.”
“Nah, s’just cold in London.”
Aziraphale ran his fingers over Crowley’s shoulder blades, pressing gently into the muscles there until he earned a contented hiss. “There’s a saying you know, about cold hands.”
“What’s that?”
“Cold hands, warm heart.”
“Shuddup,” Crowley murmured, smiling slightly when he heard the slight rumble of Aziraphale’s laughter.
Crowley let his eyes fall closed as he felt broad hands run up and down his spine. He was sure that the soot was long since gone, but he dared not move. After a day when both had thought the other lost, the solid presence of Aziraphale massaging teakwood suds across his skin was comforting.
“Turn around please,” Aziraphale instructed, gently pressing against Crowley’s side.
“Front’s clean.”
“I know,” the angel answered, and Crowley did not argue.
Crowley opened his eyes slightly to turn towards the angel, head still lowered. He felt Aziraphale’s fingers wander over his stomach before coming to rest over his chest. Aziraphale let out a shuddering breath, and Crowley raised his head to meet the angel’s gaze.
Aziraphale’s smile wobbled. “I just wanted to feel your heartbeat.”
Crowley did not break eye contact as he raised his hands to press Aziraphale’s palm flat against his heart.
“S’right here angel,” he murmured. Aziraphale nodded slowly, flexing his fingers against the exposed skin. Reaching out with his free hand, Aziraphale peeled one of Crowley’s hands free to place it against his own heart, warm water seeping through the tattered cloth of his waistcoat to the tattered heart underneath.
“Right here,” Aziraphale whispered.
They did not move for a long while, each placing their hearts in the other’s hands, feeling loose threads stitch back together.
Don’t be afraid, it’s only love
Only a touch that frees you
Let it release you
Toweled dry and drowsy, Crowley lay in his bed while Aziraphale sat up beside him. The only light that shone in the bedroom was the soft lamplight that lit the text of Aziraphale’s book. It was one the angel recognized, a collection of the complete works of Shakespeare that Aziraphale had gifted Crowley as a thank you for one thing or another. He did not comment on the fact that the book naturally fell open to the final page of Hamlet, the page that Aziraphale had inscribed.
“Let me know if I’m keeping you up at all.”
Crowley grunted. “I’ve slept through louder.”
“Quite the accomplishment I’m sure.”
Aziraphale reached toward the mug on the bedside table, full of fresh herbal tea.
“’Ziraphale?”
“Yes dear?”
“Do you mind if I…?” Crowley shifted towards the angel slightly.
“Not at all my dear.”
Crowley rolled over, scooching forward until he could rest his head comfortably in Aziraphale’s lap. Aziraphale threaded his fingers through copper locks, running his fingers through still damp hair. He felt Crowley slowly relax beneath him, the weight on his thigh increasing as the demon’s body went lax.
“Goodnight my dear,” Aziraphale whispered.
Take my hand, it’s only love
Let it come through you slowly
Open your heart and show me
“Angel?”
“Yes, dear?”
“You know…don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
“Good. That’s…that’s good.”
“And you? You know?”
“Yeah. Yeah I know.”
“Good. Rest now my dear, I’ll watch over you.”
Don’t be afraid, it’s only love.
__________________________________________
AN: Hello! Here is my contribution to @jukeboxomens. The lyrics are from the gorgeous song “Only Love” from The Scarlet Pimpernel. The lyrics scream “night after we separate ourselves from our respective sides so we can acknowledge our love for each other as what it is, only love, something untarnished by outside forces or who we were meant to be, rather it is as pure as love itself because we choose for it to be”.
While the nudity in here was by no means meant to be sexual in nature, I’m going to tag this NSFT (Not Safe For Tumblr) for those who would rather not have any sort of nudity on their dash, written or otherwise.
I can’t wait to see everyone else’s contributions!
@jukeboxomens this was inspired by the song Like You Do by Joji because I always imagined that song being played at a wedding... so here’s the dudes getting married
Crowley stares as the angel stalks away, trying and failing to keep his heart from breaking.
Fraternizing. The word cuts through him like a knife. How could-- of all the ways Aziraphale might have reacted to his request, he'd never expected angel would be so- so-- dismissive. As if what they had-- five thousand years and more of shared history--was nothing more than a tawdry affair.
He wants to be sick. He'd thought Aziraphale would understand. That he'd know what it meant, for Crowley to ask him for this. What he's risking. What he's saying.
Clearly, he'd been wrong.
He grimaces. He's had millennia of practice at keeping his feelings close to his chest, but this hurts. His eyes prickle with a sudden moisture, and he squeezes them shut. He breathes in hard, pressing a gloved fist to his mouth, trying to school his expression back to neutrality. You never knew who might be watching.
Vulnerability in Hell is dangerous, and he's long kept his heart locked away, burying it under a carefully constructed facade of easy bravado.
He's worn the mask so long now, sometimes he almost forgets it's all a show.
Not that Aziraphale is any different, really. The angel tells different lies but it's all for the same reasons-- because honesty is too dangerous for both of them. And so they've spent centuries never quite saying what they mean directly. Dancing on the razor's edge of discovery, their meetings are always shielded by a veil of plausible deniability. They aren't meeting each other on purpose, oh no. It's always a coincidence, all Ah, my old Adversary, come to thwart me again, I see and Angel, what a coincidence, seeing you here.
They are both very fluent in the language of subterfuge. They have to be.
But this-- this was too important, and so Crowley had risked being as bold as he dared. For once, he had risked laying all his cards on the table, baring his throat and speaking as clearly as he knew how.
Please, angel. I need you. I love you so much I'd kill my own kind for you. For us. To keep us together.
This isn't about the Arrangement. Not anymore. If Crowley's honest with himself, it hasn't been for a long time now. It's about the way Aziraphale smiles. The light in his eyes when Crowley does him some little favor. The small, delighted wiggle he makes when he's finished a particularly good meal.
It's about the way Crowley wishes he could see these things every day, every hour, never leaving his angel's side, instead of sustaining himself on whatever meager scraps of time together they can manage to steal.
He'd thought Aziraphale would understand. They've known each other so long, spent so much time speaking this language of things implied and left unsaid, and the angel is usually so good at reading between the lines. Surely he would hear what Crowley meant now, when it mattered the most.
Instead, the angel had thrown it all back in his face.
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